


Imperium

by ashland94



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22543387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashland94/pseuds/ashland94
Summary: In a desperate act, Bartemius Crouch Sr. pays Harry Potter a visit
Kudos: 9





	1. Delaying the Inevitable

**Delaying the Inevitable**

**By Any Means Necessary**

**31 October 1985**

Bartemius Crouch Sr. was a realist. As such, he refused to lie to himself about his predicament. His popularity was waning just as that of Cornelius Fudge's was rising. Fudge had Lucius Malfoy, Philip Parkinson, and Tristan Nott behind him, which meant be had the likes of Goyle, Crabbe, and Greengrass as well. Others who, under normal circumstances would've backed him, were keeping their distance.

He should've killed them when he had the chance.

Everything had gone as planned. Successful Auror, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Judge on the Council of Magical Law, beautiful, smart wife, intelligent heir.

His life would've been better had the boy trickled down his mother's leg.

But he could correct this. He could steer the ship back on course. He just needed a little help.

At this moment there were two people more popular than he: Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

Dumbledore. He wasn't about to go beg him for assistance. The man was tight-lipped, insufferable, and as ambitious as he. No, he had nothing to give the cunning, old lion and he wasn't too keen on taking from him if he had anything.

Harry Potter, however, was prime for the taking.

He had watched the boy and even helped him out. Pulled some weeds, washed the car, and kept his cousin at bay.

He was, as always, honest with himself. He knew it cruel to take advantage of a child, but it _would_ be to Harry's benefit as much as his. He didn't know what Dumbledore played at, but even he knew the fool was making a terrible mistake where the child was concerned. A child with too much power…

Some clothes, some food, some toys…Harry Potter would be in his pocket. He'd take the boy out. Maybe to a Quidditch game or two.

He knew the muttering. He knew they believed his lack of attention drove his son to be a Death Eater. He could revive that with Harry Potter. He, not Dumbledore, would be the boy's mentor.

He could admit, if only to himself, Junior existed for an image. And because the name had needed continuing. He had never been too fond of him. He cried too much. He had always been _soft_. A pitiful boy had grown into a pathetic man who had begged for mercy after torturing a man and woman into insanity.

 _He_ would never take responsibility for that.

And now he had to look at that waste of oxygen instead of…

He cracked his neck and exhaled. A few minutes passed as he stared at a picture of his wife. She had been lovely. Long, brown hair and a rosy complexion in her youth. He liked to look at pictures of her before the boy. She had wasted away weeping for _him_. Never would he be able to sit at her grave and grieve.

The boy had taken her from him. He wouldn't give him this, too.

There was a knock at his door. He was in his office, which had polished, cherry wood floors and navy blue walls. The upholstery was gray and velvet and so very soft. He sat behind his large desk of cherry wood, leaning back in his seat. He had no portraits in here and only one picture. He liked his solitude.

He touched the desk. He had but a few more years in this office. Either he would be Minister or that petty fool would move him.

"Yes?" he called at last.

Lauren Higgs, a pretty, young blonde who he was pleased to see was exceptional at her job, poked her head in. "Emmeline Vance to see you, sir."

He nodded. "Send her in."

A moment later, a svelte brunette with a triangular-face and pouty lips dressed in periwinkle blue entered the room. He was not so old or so cold to be unable to recognize Vance's pleasing figure.

She raised an eyebrow, so he pointed to a chair opposite him. "Have a seat." It was a frosty order. She needed to feel fear. He was pleased to see some of it spark in her hazel eyes. She had seen the logs. She had to know what this was about.

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. He knew his face was hard and unwelcoming. After a few moments, he said, "Do you enjoy your job, Vance?"

She raised her chin. A Burke. Pride 'til the last. "Yes, sir."

"You have an exemplary record," he said. "Regardless of what happens at the beginning of the next decade, you _should_ be head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The question is, will you have a job at all by the end of the hour."

She had long nails painted white. They tapped against the arm of the chair. He could tell she was taking slow, deliberate breaths. "I am…uncertain as to why that would be a question, sir."

"Are you?" He hummed. "I visited Harry Potter yesterday, but you know that. Or, at the very least, you knew I was in his vicinity. He has a very recognizable face. You could not call yourself a member of an old family if you could not identify the hair and face of a Potter." He crossed his arms. "Why did you ignore his plight? A blind person could see it and I am no fool. You or…Podmore had to handle every incident of accidental magic."

Her shoulders appeared to droop for a moment, but when she exhaled she was as prideful as ever.

"Lily. His mother," she said, "she was, according to Albus, given a choice to live or die. She _chose_ death. That choice saved her son – "

He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes Dumbledore has already told me the story, but this does not explain your actions."

She shook her head. "What was I supposed to do? Go to the Child Wellness Office? File a complaint with Elizabeth _Wilkes_?"

"Have I died?"

She smiled at him, but was as cold as his tone. "Why did you visit, Harry, sir? Was it to his benefit or yours?"

"Careful, girl."

"I have not much to lose," she replied with a lightly. "I have been stuck between Albus Dumbledore and giving fodder to blood supremacists for four years. If I thought I could trust you to not use his misfortune to your advantage, I might have come to you."

He stared at her for a bit then said, "I am not so desperate or foolish as to spread it around." He had weighed the pros and cons of it and had found the bad outweighed the good by a large margin. "Harry Potter is being abused," he announced as if either didn't already know that. "Something must be done about it. Tell me what…how does it benefit him to live there?"

"It keeps his mother's sacrifice alive. I believe it lasts until he is a man."

"So he must see it as a home." He nodded. "Tell me, Vance, how much are you willing to help Harry?"

She closed her eyes. "It depends on what you ask of me."

"Who watches him? I know he is not in the neighborhood alone."

She sighed. "A squib."

He smirked. "Of course. Squibs are not required to tell the Ministry where they live. I admire Albus so very much." He laughed his low, deep laugh. "I need you to tell me all that you know of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore and everything you learn hereafter. You do that and you keep your job. I will even allow you access and all this will be swept under the rug."

She closed her eyes and did not answer for some time. After several moments of silence, she spat, "Fine."

"Very good," he said. "I hope this is the beginning of a worthy alliance."

Vance just stared at him coolly. He thought to tell her such a look did not belong on a pretty face, but he knew better.

"Well, Vance?"

She sighed. "He is…a quiet child. Asocial, but craves a friend or two…"

**xXx**

**Dealing with Devils**

**1 November 1985**

The next day he opened the gate to Four Privet Drive. It was bland, but it fit with the entire neighborhood. Identical houses with manicured lawns and luxury cars in the driveways. Dursley drove a Jaguar. Bartemius was unimpressed.

He knocked on the oak door. A moment or two passed then it opened to reveal a small, pale boy with messy, black hair and bright green eyes. His glasses, which were round and black, were much too large for his thin face and the clothes on his back were too large for his thin frame.

Harry ogled him.

"It is rude to stare," he said. The boy stiffened and lowered his eyes, though he couldn't keep himself from stealing glances. "Good morning, Harry."

Harry looked back up at him. "Hi."

He held out his hand, not knowing exactly what to do with a five year. This might be harder than he'd considered. "Bartemius Crouch Sr."

The child shook his hand. "Harry Potter," he announced.

"May I come in, Harry," he said. "I wish to speak with you and your guardians."

Harry shrugged then stepped aside. It was a good thing his location was kept secret. Harry was allowed to open the door yet had no concern for anyone's safety. Not that the muggles deserved it. "They're in the kitchen."

"Show me to the sitting room then go get them."

Harry nodded then led him threw the house, which had peach colored wallpaper with white accents and a warm, brown wood floor. Many pictures were nailed to those walls, but Harry Potter was in none. You wouldn't know another child lived there if you weren't privy to that bit of information.

Harry showed him to the sitting room. Here the walls were salmon colored and the upholstery was pale gray. There was a muggle television and a fireplace that appeared to be electric and everything smelled of lemon.

"I'll be back," Harry said. "Err – you can sit, I guess."

He sat down in the armchair, which faced, what he assumed was, the kitchen door. He thought to twirl his wand, but that was unnecessary at the moment. He wasn't there to bully the muggles needlessly.

A fat, purplish man with a thick, black mustache and beedy, blue eyes stepped from the kitchen first. He wore a navy blue suit and brown shoes and a watch sparkled on his arm. From what Bartemius could tell his attire was of fine quality.

The man, Dursley, sized him up. Bartemius had worn the best of his black suits and his shoes had been polished so well he could almost see his reflection. He wore subtle gold. The ring on his finger, his watch, the eyelets of his boots. Vernon Dursley saw everything that shined on him and his eyes lit up.

How Bartemius would enjoy this.

A long-necked, horse-faced brunette stepped through next in a peach colored dress. Unlike her husband, she narrowed her gray eyes at him. Harry must have said his full name. Either her sister had spoken of Crouch or 'Bartemius' had put her on guard.

He stood and shook the muggle man's hand. "Good morning, Mr. Dursley. I hope you will forgive me for dropping by uninvited – "

Harry stumbled through the door with a fat, blond boy behind him. The boy had a nasty grin on his face as he grabbed Harry by the skin of his neck.

"Err – Dudley," Vernon said. "Go outside. Boy to your room." He cleared his throat when Bartemius raised his eyebrows. "Punishment. He is not too well behaved. We do our best."

Bartemius crooked a finger at Harry. "Come." When Harry was at his side, he stared at Dudley, until the pink-faced child waddled from the room. When it was just the four of them he reached into his pocket to pull out a tiny object. The other three watched as it grew into a rucksack.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

Staring Vernon Dursley down with his most amused grin, he said, "The same way you managed to fly onto your school roof: magic." His eyes slid to Harry. "I will explain it after I speak with your aunt and uncle." He tilted his head. "Go enjoy what's inside."

Bartemius watched as Harry looked at his uncle then left the room. His eyes spied it when he walked into the cupboard under the stairs. Despite his purpose their it snatched his breath. Who knew Harry Potter would have been better off with Lucius or Walburga or hell Bellatrix?

"How could you not give a child a bedroom?"

Vernon, who was now the shade of puce, swelled up. "He has been provided with food, clothes, and shelter – "

"The bare minimum and nothing of quality." There was no frost in it as he had forgot himself. He was confused and concerned and neither was rarely the case for him and only once had he been so at the same time. "For what reason?"

"We never wanted that unnaturalness in our home."

The woman stepped forward. "We were promised you people would leave us alone if we took him in."

"Albus Dumbledore made you that foolish promise. I am held to no such agreement." He looked at the man. "Un-nat-ur-al-ness," he sounded out. "So bold to be so helpless."

Petunia clutched her husband's arm. "We will call the police."

He curled his lip. "I am Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As such, I am the police." He sat back down and crossed his legs. "Why?"

"That _unnaturalness_ needs to be stamped out of him."

Bartemius tutted. "Fool. The best outcome for you would have been that he learned and grew afraid of his own magic. It would have internalized itself and killed you all one day. However, he is functional. So he might just let you die when the time comes or kill you and every muggle in your vicinity himself." He took out his wand and stroked it.

Vernon stiffened, but remained quiet.

"Many of my people resent muggles. They wish to subjugate you. For once, I understand it." He tilted his head. "You are not so bold now, Vernon, are you?" He curled his lip. "Sit."

The two adults sat, holding onto each other. He could taste the fear; the apprehension. Delicious.

He stared at them for a minute or so. They squirmed. How delightful. "I came here to bribe you. To hand you money in exchange for giving Harry to me and a friend on the weekends and some weekdays. Now, I shall just threaten." He laughed at the disappointment in Vernon's eyes. "What do you think your neighbors will think if you are arrested for child abuse?"

Petunia shook her head. " _He_ said Harry needed Lily's blood to stay safe. If I go to prison, he dies."

He laughed softly. What a vicious, cunning cunt. If she had any beauty he'd find her lovely. "His mother's blood. Or rather, blood from his mother's family. In other words, you have a son." He smirked. "You, muggle, are expendable."

She paled.

"Marge would never take him," Vernon blustered.

"I am ignorant of who Marge is, but, as I said, I am the police, but with magic. Only my kind can stop me. However, not a soul would lift a finger to save Harry Potter's abusers."

Petunia moved her mouth until she was able to say, "Albus Dumbledore – "

"Will use your son as I have already suggested." He sighed. "So what will it be?"

"You can have him," Vernon spat.

Bartemius shook his head. "No, no, no, as your wife has already pointed out, he _must_ stay with her or your son. However, that does not mean he will continue to be treated the way he is. I will not allow it."

Vernon turned maroon. "This is my home – "

"And you are at my mercy," he said. "You will give him proper house room and all the food he wants." He could provide the clothing. "You _will_ cease allowing your son to… _bully_ him. Or _he_ will face the consequences of his actions. _I_ will teach Harry to do it myself."

Silence reigned for a few minutes. The muggles were red-faced and seething, but they knew their position. At last the woman said, "He is not to be here on the weekends."

"That was what I said, no?"

The woman gave him a hateful glare. He stared back at her. She was fueled by hate, unlike her husband who operated on fear, though, through his worthless mind, he could see an incident with James Potter.

How he would have liked for James Potter to have been his son.

He felt the woman then fully understood her. He stood then, planning to find Harry. Before he left, however, he said, "Your sister is dead and you will never be a witch."

Vernon snorted. "She does not want to be one."

Bartemius smiled. "It seems I know more about your wife than you do. Tell him, Pet, of your first letter exchange with Headmaster Dumbledore."

He turned on his heel and left the room with a single question on his mind: was that Severus Snape he saw?

With his eyes closed, he knocked on the cupboard door. When Harry poked his head out, he said, "Come, sit on the step with me."

Harry stepped from the cupboard clutching _Picture! Transfiguration_. It was a picture book for children his age that identified basic transfigurations. Vance had purchased the series. Forever a Ravenclaw.

The pair sat on the steps it was a well kept thing, but it creaked. He wondered if that was his alarm clock in the morning.

"This is all real?" Harry asked. "You can do all this with that stick?"

"Wand," he corrected. "Tis a wand and yes, I can and so much more. One day, you shall be able to do all that and more as well."

Harry looked at the book. "How?"

"The September after your eleventh you will journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where you will spend the majority of the seven years thereafter."

Harry's eyes widened like saucers. "And I can get a s-st – a wand?"

Bartemius inclined his head. "But we must speak of the here and now. I will begin telling you to erase whatever it is you were told of your parents from your mind. They were a witch and wizard as you and I are a pair of wizards."

Harry nodded.

"Almost five years ago this Halloween, your mother and father were murdered." He said it with as much compassion as he could muster. He realized he was speaking with a small child. "They were killed by a Dark wizard."

Harry frowned. "Dark?"

"A wizard who enjoys the pleasure of magic created with the sole purpose of hurting, killing, or controlling." He sighed. "We are getting off topic. He…" Bartemius exhaled. "Voldemort was his name."

He paused for a moment, but nothing happened. He wanted to laugh at himself. He had never said it aloud, never wanting to give Dumbledore the satisfaction.

"The Dark Lord had waged a war in the name of blood purity; he loathed people born of muggles, non magical folk. Ten years and you and your mother ended it. A muggleborn and a half-blood. The irony of it all is…delicious." He cleared his throat, remembering himself. "You are very famous in our world, Harry."

Harry frowned at him, but did not speak for moments. Bartemius supposed he had rambled too much and the boy was sorting through it. At last, he asked, "What was the green…spell?"

Bartemius blinked. He was, admittedly, at a loss for words. Well, not entirely. "The Killing Curse," he managed. Dumbledore didn't have the sense to explain any of it to him. No covert meetings. Nothing. He didn't understand it. He never thought Dumbledore capable of such callousness towards a child He reached over to push Harry's fringe back and touch the famous scar that lay there. It looked very much like a lightning bolt. "This will remain forever. It is the mark of a Dark curse. Those cannot be healed or removed."

He removed his hands and Harry brought his knees to his chest.

"In a few days time, you will meet a colleague of mine. You will stay with her every weekend hereafter," he said. "She may even collect you on weekdays or take you on holiday." He was not so hard-hearted as to not notice the happiness his words caused. "And you will spend a lot of your time with me."

Harry nodded. "Okay, but for what?"

"I need your help, Harry, and I will give you all that I have to offer." He held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Harry, brimming with excitement, readily took his hand. "Deal."

**xXx**

**Brave as any Lion**

**9 November 1985**

Seven days. That was how long it took for Dumbledore to come to him.

Bartemius had started by taking Harry to lunch in London. The child was precocious and curious; fascinated by the world he was being introduced to. A well mannered and polite boy who learned how to eat as well as he could in public.

A good child in spite of the muggles.

Dumbledore would be pleased.

At first, only people who recognized the Potter face stopped and spoke, wondering if the child with Bartemius Crouch Sr. was, indeed, Harry James Potter; the Boy Who Lived. Pleased he was to say, yes, it was.

Word spread. It had been a slow fire.

Amelia had knocked on his door first.

A tall, square-jawed woman with short cropped, reddish-brown hair and pretty, cornflower blue eyes. His one and only protégé. If he failed, he wouldn't be disappointed if she succeeded in his place. Far too fair and not as deceptive as he, but he was still proud to say she was an impressive woman, duelist, and politician.

She had sat across from him wearing royal blue robes. "I am told you found yourself in the company of Harry Potter?" She had stared him down as only those unafraid of him dared to do. "Why?"

"The Minister for Magic's Office."

"You will use an innocent child for your own personal gain? I thought better of you, Barty."

He had smiled at her. "You are not such a fool, Amelia. It has been some time since you thought better of me. Why lie?"

She had pursed her lips. She was nothing like her brother and yet everything like him. Bold, loyal, and daring. Booming personalities, but she lacked Edgar's cunning; his cruelty. She was nastier than he had been with a wand. All her life she had been, but kinder with her words and actions.

She'd had no answer for him, so he filled the silence with the tale of the state he found Harry in.

"Fine, Barty," she'd said at last. "But I will keep in touch with Vance about the boy."

"Is that all you wish to discuss with her, dear Amy?"

She left his office red-faced with him cackling behind her. It was a genuine, hearty laugh. It had felt good.

Bagnold visited him next. She was a hard-faced blonde with thin lips always painted red. The woman was lazy at her job, allowing him and Dumbledore far too much free reign, but he did not complain. He gained popularity as a wartime leader. As Dumbledore did not behave like a man who thought this peace would last, he knew Sirius Black would not be last thing he contributed to the war against the Dark Lord.

He told her the boy's story as well then assured her, "I will deal with Dumbledore."

She nodded. He would only reach out to her if, and only if, he needed a higher authority, but he didn't think he would.

Not even as he stared at Albus Dumbledore. In that moment, Bartemius knew he was as brave as any Gryffindor claimed to be. Maybe as brave as Godric himself. Maybe a Hogwarts house ought to be named for him. At least a staircase to honor this moment.

Dumbledore, normally a kind, genteel man, radiated power. His eyes seemed to thunder and spark. He had never seen such an unhappy look on his face. He understood why the Dark Lord had chosen to send stooges and cower behind his followers. He had, of course, seen Dumbledore at his meanest, but that had been directed at the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, the _Dark Lord_. Never at _him_.

The boy would do damn well to appreciate him for this. Maybe there would be a Bartemius Potter in the future.

"Is there a reason you disturbed Harry Potter's peace, Bartemius?"

Bartemius smirked. Most people called him Barty or Crouch, including Dumbledore. If his old Transfiguration Professor thought he'd be cowed by the use of his full name, he was losing his touch.

"If that is what you describe as peace, I should hate to see what discord you could create. How could you be so cruel, Albus? Even I treated my own son better once upon a time and always _disliked_ the boy so."

Dumbledore was, momentarily, short of words. Only for a moment, though. "I am at a loss as to what you mean."

"Are you losing your mind? Or are all your followers incompetent?" He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "They either failed to tell you Harry Potter was being abused or you ignored it. Which one is it, Albus?"

There was a spark of something – concern maybe – in the piercing blue eyes of his companion. Still, he said, "Certainly abused is an exaggeration."

"So you ignored it," he said. " _Scoffed_ at it. All the rumors and half truths surrounding your family and this is what you do to an innocent child who had lost everything. It's my job to ruin the lives of boys, Albus, not yours. You are the enabler. I don't appreciate usurpers."

The fires around the room flickered. He licked his lips and kept his bored façade up, even if he knew he'd jumped over the line.

"I'll thank you to leave me family where they are, Bartemius, lest we compare notes."

He smirked. "I always know how to make you speak with candor. Such a talent. I shall have to teach my new protégé that skill." He laughed in the face of Dumbledore's anger. "Why, Dumbledore? We both know the dangers of little boys growing up with hatred in their hearts. You and I know it intimately. So why did you leave Harry Potter in the possession of muggles who hated magic?"

"To keep him alive and away from the likes of you."

" _Good_ that you are being honest. _Bad_ ," he drawled, "that this is your truth." They stared each other down. "They did not give him proper house room or adequate clothing."

Dumbledore looked away from him.

"He tended to the garden, washed their car, cleaned the dishes, served them dinner. Two muggles treated the second most famous wizard in the world like a Black house elf all because the woman was jealous of her sister and James Potter mocked the muggle man about a broomstick. And you ignored it."

He sat up. "You and I know this could have ended in a very bad way. Why could you not offer him respite? Why could you not take a Sunday to have lunch with him? Why did you not make certain he had a bedroom? He couldn't _eat_ when he wanted to."

There seemed to be pain there. A spark of emotion, but he was learned in the ways of Albus Dumbledore. He was capable of emotion; of empathy, but he did what he must. The necessary. Had Harry Potter landed in front of him one afternoon, he would have looked at the boy's broken glasses and rags then walked him back to the muggles with a sad smile on his face.

He and Albus were two sides of the same coin. He was honest with himself, so he could admit the tale of Harry Potter could still end in a very bad way with he, the Dark Lord, and Albus Dumbledore being the biggest players in his life.

"I feared they would throw him out if I pushed too much," he confessed softly. "My goal remains that he live. So long as he arrived to Hogwarts alive and whole I would have met my goal."

"Whole is a broad term, Albus. As I have been told the bruises of words last longer than that of punches. He will never forget the neglect. We can only hope he forgives it."

The unspoken 'you' hung in the air.

Silence reigned for a few moments. "What would you have done had he not arrived to you whole? What would you have done had Harry Potter come to Hogwarts a hateful little shit and not a kind, well-mannered child looking for a friend?"

He asked the question, but he knew the answer as he knew Dumbledore would not answer. Dumbledore would do what Bartemius hated the most: watched and waited.

A powerful man, but Dumbledore was not a man of action. He did not move as he chose to watch. He was the ultimate chess master. He planned the long game, but sometimes things needed to be done or changed in the here and now.

And that's where Bartemius stepped in in.

He had long understood he and Dumbledore were a team of sorts. He won the battles while Albus Dumbledore won the war.

"He must always see it as home."

"He will know it as a home, Albus. It just won't be a hell for him, too."


	2. Conversations with Wise Men

**Conversations with Wise Men**

**Repentance**

**23 June 1988**

Harry could say the past three years had been the best of his life. He could come and go as he pleased for the most part, had decent clothes, two bedrooms, all the books he could read and all the food he could eat.

He'd made some friends, too. Emmeline had introduced him to the son of an old friend: Cormac McLaggen. Harry liked him after being wary of him initially as he reminded him a lot of Dudley. Cormac was just a little less beefy and not so violent.

She'd also introduced him to the grandson of her neighbors. Terry Boot would be in his year and Harry liked him as well.

He'd met a few other children his age, including Draco Malfoy, but Emmeline hadn't introduced them. No, she disliked the acquaintanceship in fact, so Harry barely spoke of it.

He had, of course, visited Malfoy Manor on several occasions and spent several nights. He'd also met Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy's parents and relatives, including the Blacks.

He was to have dinner with one that evening.

Most had spoken to him when he visited the Malfoys, but Cassiopeia, Pollux, Irma, and Cygnus were more frosty than anything and kept their distance.

Druella, Mrs. Malfoy's mother, found him "adorable" and had sent him gifts for his birthday and Christmas.

Mr. Arcturus Black had just taken to staring at Harry. Initially. He spoke always, but gradually initiated conversation until they had lengthy ones. Mr. Black was fond of Astronomy and Harry was ever curious about its place in magic. For Christmas he'd been given a set of Astronomy books and a telescope.

Now, Harry was having dinner with him at his home.

At six thirty, Harry took the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, the gateway to Diagon Alley. He made his way through the dimly lit pub with his head down before walking to Charring Cross Station for the train to Islington.

He knew his Floo was monitored. It was the only way Bartemius knew he was a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor. This time he knew better. It was a bit of a trip, but, as he would avoid playing twenty questions, it was worth it.

In a dark alley, Harry changed his clothes by putting on dark green robes then removing his t-shirt and shorts underneath. He placed his clothes in his bag, the same enlarged bag Bartemius had given him, then removed a black cloak and boots.

When he was dressed, he set off again.

Grimmauld Place was a street not too far from the station, but it was not what Harry had expected.

The Blacks appeared to have settled in a neighborhood that was… _inelegant_ to say the least. They lived on a street lined with old townhouses, but they weren't what one would describe as posh. Many of them had busted windows, piles of rubbish lay outside the houses, and the paint of many doors was peeling.

Twelve Grimmauld Place eased into existence as he neared. He made certain no muggle was around before he turned to walk up the old steps to the battered door.

There was no doorknob, but he would have knocked anyway.

The door creaked open a moment later to reveal a tall, thin man with wavy, white hair and an aged yet handsome face. It had a number of wrinkles, but most were faint across the rectangular face. He had high and defined cheekbones as well as a sculpted jaw. His nose was long and thin and his eyes were silver. Arcturus Black knew he was handsome and the arrogance it caused reflected in his countenance.

"Good evening, Harry." He stepped aside. "Pleased that you could join me."

Harry entered. "Evening, sir."

He removed his cloak and bag and Arcturus hung them both up.

"Come," he said. "Let me show you about."

Harry was led through a dark house. Not in lighting, but in color. A rich, deep, _dark_ green wallpaper covered the walls. Silver, serpentine candleholders had been nailed to it. The floor was dark and polished; shined under the bright candles that smelled of smoke and wood with a hint of flower.

"I would have invited you sooner, but my daughter-in-law died some years ago and we allowed this place to become _inhabitable_."

Harry was shown to a bathroom where he washed his hands. The room was full of black marble with thin, white veins. The faucets were silver snakeheads. As were the doorknobs.

Slytherin to the bone.

He was then taken to the dining room. It was a wide, but even longer room with silver wallpaper. The long table was still glossy and dark brown and the wood floor, which was mostly covered by a silver and lavender rug, matched. Above the center of the table was a candle chandelier. These appeared to smell of lavender and ylang-ylang. The frames of the chairs were of the same dark wood and the upholstery was silk and lavender. Two places were set, the head and the right, and the silverware shined.

There was more china in the glass-fronted cabinet very near the middle of the table. A fireplace was a left end of the room and a wine cabinet was behind Arcturus. It looked as if they'd be enjoying elf made wine. White and sweet by the looks of it.

"Have a seat."

There salad appeared – salmon and spinach – and they prepared their plates in silence. Harry eyed his host.

As he poured Harry a glass of wine, Arcturus said, "History will not tell you this, but the Blacks and Potters have been tied together for centuries. Only families with stronger ties to the Potters, so to speak, were the Princes, Gaunts, and Gores. Your family hated three of the four."

Harry looked at him in amusement. "Don't think I can guess which three."

"Indeed it should be obvious," Arcturus said. "However, where the Potters dud their best to stamp out Prince and Gaunt, damn near every Potter has befriended a Black. To my disappointment, your side has failed to produce a son when a Black has a daughter." He sighed. "We _just_ missed the mark the last one."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you about to tell me you have a niece in France willing to meet me?"

"No, I have no more daughters," he drawled. "However, Evan's daughter is in France, so maybe be careful."

Harry furrowed his brow line. "Evan…Rosier?"

"Right," Arcturus said. "Druella does nothing out of the goodness of her heart. She does not have one." He drank some of his wine. "Where was I – ahh – yes, history. What I was getting at was…throughout our entwined histories, the Potters have befriended a Black. Unfortunately for your lot, we haven't been much good to you."

Harry licked his lips. "And this is about to be the worst moment yet?"

Arcturus laughed. It was a deep, rumbling laugh. "No, but it could be, you foolish boy. Not a soul knows you are in my house, dining with me, do they?" He shook his head. "No, I am not looking for revenge. I am looking to repent."

"I'm sorry?"

Arcturus exhaled. "I ignored Henry's call when it came to Grindelwald. I threw Charlus from my home when he begged me to do something about Pollux and Cygnus. I was told Bella was not well. Charlus, Callidora, even Cassiopeia said so. Lucretia begged me to take a firm and guiding hand with Sirius and Regulus. I ignored them. How could I be hurt if muggles and muggleborns were to die?"

"So you were a…" Harry tried to think of the word. "Sympathizer?"

"I'm not much more than a lonely coward these days."

Harry was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You want the Boy Who Lived to forgive you?"

"Not exactly," he said. "If you think I've earned forgiveness when I die, I suppose my soul will be pleased. However, I do not believe unearned forgiveness will make me feel better." He looked at Harry. "I am looking to help you. Doing something; anything good by the time my eyes close to this world is what I am after."

With salad on his fork, he asked, "How can you help me?"

Arcturus sighed. "You are a clever child…" he began, but he shook his head. "Do you like Bartemius? Do you enjoy his company?"

Harry nodded.

Arcturus hummed. "Very well," he said. "Upstairs I have two cabinets," he said. "I can have my house elf bring one to you and the other I can place in a bedroom for you. Whenever your attention isn't being demanded you may came through at any time you like. How would you like that?"

"A lot," was the answer. More time away from the Dursleys wasn't something he'd pass up. Nevermind that he wouldn't have to use the Floo.

Arcturus nodded then tapped the table.

**xXx**

**Bravery?**

**22 June 1991**

Harry Potter had grown into a thin eleven year old with a golden tan, but he was still a bit short for his liking.

"Your father had been scrawny at his age," Emmeline told him. "You should hit a growth spurt within the next two years."

"I'm petite, not scrawny," Harry had replied much to her amusement, but that tidbit of information had been comforting.

On this day, the petite boy found himself wandering over to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, where he spied one of his future professors: Minerva McGonagall.

Having been born into a Gryffindor family, he was certain she would be his Head of House, too. However, he didn't know why he should want to be in Gryffindor in the first place. Other than that it was expected of him over course.

She was sitting outside the shop speaking with a brown-skinned, black boy, who had a high top fade. Harry suspected this would be one of his year mates.

Professor McGonagall's pale green eyes landed on him when he was almost at the table. She was a stern looking woman with a tight, low bun of black hair that made her look all the more severe,, but her face softened a fraction at the sight of him. She had silver, rectangular glasses on her nose and wore a tartan green robe.

He smiled. "Afternoon, Professor."

"Afternoon, Harry," the Scottish woman said. "This is Dean Thomas. Mr. Thomas," she lowered her voice, "Harry Potter."

"No need to lower your voice," Harry said. "Everyone here knows my face by now." He sat down and nodded at Dean Thomas, who looked at him in confusion. He turned back to he professor. "I don't get the sorting," he said.

She knitted her eyebrows. "Elaborate if you please."

"I think bravery, loyalty, ambition, and intelligence are all great things to have."

"Ah," she said. "What is it that you value most?"

He frowned in contemplation. "Ambition, I think. Or intelligence." He shook his head. "No, it's ambition."

She scoffed. It sounded like a cross between an indignant gasp and a choking noise. "I forbid it."

He laughed. "Emmeline tells me I look dashing in green."

"I favor the color green myself. I am still a proud Gryffindor."

Harry shrugged. It was time to get to the crux of the matter. "Bravery seems like the least important thing there, to be honest."

She looked aghast and insulted. "Forgive him, James."

Harry laughed, which made her face soften.

"You looked like your mother just then."

Harry tilted his head. "That's a first."

She cleared her throat. "Listen, Potter, Gryffindor isn't just the house the brave. 'Daring, nerve, _and_ chivalry set Gryffindors apart.'"

"I've been told. Over and over again. Cormac didn't shut up about it over Christmas." Harry huffed. "But daring and nerve and chivalry still don't compare to acceptance, handwork, and friendliness; individuality, creativity, and intelligence; fraternity, leadership, and resourcefulness."

The more he spoke the more aghast she grew. "Doesn't _compare_ – how dare you?"

He stamped down his smile. He was serious and wanted to be taken as such, but her reaction was so very funny.

"Potter, it seems you, unfortunately, have your heart set against my house, but I will entertain you. What, if you don't mind my asking, are you afraid of? What, at this moment, do you fear?"

Harry blinked. He looked at Dean Thomas then looked back at McGonagall. "Failing."

"At what?"

He sighed in an attempt to calm his elevating heart rate. "At living up to expectation." He was Bartemius Crouch's protégé; the Boy Who Lived. Emmeline and his parents had always been in the top five of their year.

Her face softened again. "Now how will face that fear?"

He frowned. "I don't know."

"Do you intend to run from it?"

"No."

She tilted her head. "Whyever not?"

He waved his hand about. "I don't run from a challenge, but just 'cause I'm willing to give the 'prodigy of this decade' a try doesn't change anything."

She tsked. "Bravery, daring, and nerve are at the core of every characteristic you named. What indeed is ambition without the nerve to go for what you want? It takes courage to go against the grain; to be who you are. It takes nerve to question the work of others; to correct or build on what they have. Change is brought about by the bold."

Just then a tall, black woman with a head full of braids sat next to Dean Thomas. He held out his hand. "Harry Potter."

She shook it. "Rebecca-Ann Thomas."

"Nice to meet. I have to go, though." He nodded at McGonagall as he stood. "I'm not against your house, by the way. I'm just confused by it."

She stared at him for moment. "One day you will understand it."

**xXx**

**The Wizard Chooses the Man**

**22 July 1991**

"We're not going to Gringotts?" Harry asked as they passed the imposing, white marble bank. They were walking down Diagon Alley, which wasn't all that full as it was only the end of July.

Emmeline shook her purse so that Harry heard the money bag rattling around in there. He supposed he see his vault at a later date.

In silence, they walked to a small establishment on the north end. It was shabby with Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. in peeling gold letters above the door. To the left of the door was a grimy display window where a singular wand lay on a dusty pillow.

They pushed the door open and a bell rang from somewhere inside, which was empty save for a rickety, old chair and copious dust. Harry stood on his toes and squinted. Way in the back were tall stacks of long, thin boxes that very nearly touched the ceiling.

He jumped when he saw a shadow. An old man with pale eyes and shocking white hair had stepped out from behind those boxes and was now walking towards them.

"Good morning," he said. When he neared he said, "Ah, Harry Potter, I was hoping I'd see you soon. You look very much like your father," he observed, "but you have your mother's eyes. I remember their visits as if it were yesterday." He crooked a finger. "Wand arm, please."

Harry stepped closer then held out his right arm and the tape measure sprang up.

"Your father favored a mahogany wand, eleven inches, pliable. Dragon heartstring was the core. Excellent for transfiguration. He was ready to make any and everything bang and smoke."

"And that he did," Emmeline drawled from behind them.

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Good morning, Miss Vance. Acacia and phoenix feather, twelve inches, bendy. Excellent, subtle wand. Best for charms."

"Mr. Ollivander and yes, I still favor it."

He turned back to Harry. "Your mother was chosen by a willow and unicorn hair wand, ten and a quarter inches, swishy. Another wand for charms."

Ollivander returned with a wand in hand. Stroking it, he said, "All Ollivander wands are unique with a core of phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, or unicorn hair. This one has a unicorn hair core and wood of ebony, twelve inches, bendy."

He handed it to Harry, but it was snatched back immediately. As were the next few dozen. With each new failure, Mr. Ollivander appeared to grow more enthusiastic. "We will find you a wand yet, Mr. Potter."

Mr. Ollivander looked at Harry. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand in hand, prepared to roll his eyes once more. However, the wand warmed at his touch and sparked silver and gold.

Mr. Ollivander clapped. "Excellent, Mr. Potter. How very curious," he said. "Very curious, indeed."

"What's curious," Harry asked.

The wandmaker stared down at him. "I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter. The phoenix in question only gave two feathers and I had a devil of a time coaxing those from him," he said with a chuckle. "I sold the brother many years ago. About…fifty-five years this past December to be exact."

"Who owns the brother?" Harry asked, having a feeling he knew just who it was.

Mr. Ollivander stepped impossibly close then lifted a pale finger and swept the fringe away from Harry's forehead. "The very person who gave you this scar."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

Mr. Ollivander looked at Emmeline. "Nothing," he said simply. "It means nothing so long as you want it to mean nothing." He looked back down at Harry. "Wands are more than a core or a wood or a length. In fact, a yew and phoenix wand of thirteen inches could have chosen you and it would still mean nothing."

Harry, assuming that was Voldemort's wand, asked, "Can you explain that?"

"The wand chooses the wizard, of course, but the wand cannot determine the type of man you will be. That is up to you."

"Oh," Harry said.

Ollivander inclined his head. "Though, I do expect to hear of great things, Mr. Potter. Only you can determine if they will also be terrible."

Harry nodded. "They won't be."

**xXx**

**Ten Years of Study**

**31 July 1991**

Godric's Hollow was a quaint little village in West Country, Somerset to be exact, with matching cottages lining the sides of a narrow road. He could hear splashing water and laughing children from somewhere to his left.

He looked at the cottages, hoping he could identify some while knowing that was a futile, ridiculous hope. Still he looked. Maybe someone could identify him. It was a muggle village now, but wizards weren't going to let them have it alone. Not the village Godric Gryffindor himself built.

The road curved to its left and Harry entered the heart of the village. Muggles entered and exited the shops. He saw some drinking from tankards in what looked like the village pub. There was what looked like a war memorial and a post office and a little church with stain glass windows in the distance.

Excitement and fear ran through him. For years he had wanted to come, but had never asked. He supposed that it was a trip he wanted to take alone is what stopped him.

He knew where he had to go and had no intention of stopping, but his feet did nonetheless when he'd glanced at the war memorial again.

Except, it was no longer a war memorial. It was a bronze statue of three people. A thin man with messy hair Harry new to be black and square glasses on his thin nose, his arm was wrapped across the shoulders of a beautiful, kind-faced woman with long hair that had been dark red in life, and a baby in her arms. A scarless, happy baby.

Life before death; before the scar; before misery. He stared at it with a mixture of longing and hate. It was nothing but an image of what could have been and what he'd missed out on.

 _And a picture of their happiness_.

He stamped that down. He didn't want comfort. He wanted to feel bad about himself and his life.

He exhaled. Life hadn't been bad for a while, though. Spectacular, in fact. He could say the past six years had been the very best of his young life. He'd grown a bit, put on a bit of weight, and had color in his face. He couldn't imagine what he would have looked like had he been left in his cupboard.

He stared at the statue for a little longer before pulling himself away and continuing on to the church. He did look over his shoulder until he crossed the road, though. He would have continued looking back, but it had turned back to the war memorial.

He pushed open the kissing gate to the graveyard then started to look around. He passed several familiar names like Abbott and Fawley and Gamp and…Dumbledore.

He stopped at that tombstone. Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore. Harry frowned at the dates. Kendra had to be his mother and Ariana had been his sister. She had died young, Ariana had, and both had to have gone before he was twenty.

He looked around for a male Dumbledore, but there was no other one there. He shrugged and continued on his way. Maybe the man had died somewhere else. Or left.

He found his parents after about ten minutes and stared at their tomb for a little while. _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_ , he mouthed. He didn't know what that meant. From his vantage point, death had won. Death always won, didn't it? It was inevitable.

After a few minutes, Harry sat in front of the tombstone, cross-legged with the late July sun on his neck. "Hi, Mum, Dad. Nice to meet you."

He sat there for a long while speaking to the bones of his parents and maybe to their spirits as well. He somehow understood that the dead were always with them. He knew, from old mythology, that as the days grew shorter they were closer than ever especially on Halloween.

But today was the very last day of July and he hoped that maybe they tried their best to be as close to them on this day as he wanted to be to them.

At long last, Harry stood, with a sigh. It was time to go…somewhere else.

He walked back through the square and wandered around in the opposite direction from whence he had came. He wandered until he saw a dark mass at the end of a particular row of houses.

Then he walked with purpose until he stopped at the gate of a ruined cottage covered in ivy. The grass had grown tall and bits of burned roof and debris lay in it. Most of the cottage was still standing, but a hole had been blown in the right side of the upper floor. He knew that had been his bedroom once upon a time; the place where Lily Potter had ended and where the Boy Who Lived began.

He touched the gate, but a sign seemed to grow from the ground like a flower. Golden letters described the events of the thirty-first of October nineteen eighty-one and how the cottage had been left in this state as a reminder of the violence that destroyed his family.

He sighed again.

"Such a heavy sigh for a young man just starting life."

Harry jumped and stumbled back. He had not heard a single footstep. Having been in the company of aurors, Harry knew he had just messed up. He hadn't even grabbed his wand. "Who are you?"

"Bathilda Bagshot," she answered.

"Bathilda Bagshot? I've heard that name before." He scrunched up his face and snapped his fingers. "A History of Magic Bathilda Bagshot? The historian?" His eyes widened. "You live in Godric's Hollow?"

She smiled at him, making her laugh lines and crows feet more pronounced. "Yes, many of our kind live here," she said. "The Abbotts are over yonder," she said pointing in the opposite direction. "Scammander's daughter lives not too far from me. A Fawley always remains and a Belby just moved here." She looked him up and down. "I haven't seen you since you were a baby."

He raised his eyebrows. "I thought my parents were in hiding?"

"They were, but Albus introduced us and I came to sit with your mother when your father was out. In fact, it was just the four of us for your birthday."

He frowned. "How sad."

She nodded. "It was a sad time, but we made the most of it." She tilted her head. "That was ten years ago today, wasn't it. Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thank you."

She looked back behind her then looked at him. "Are you in a hurry? We could have a spot of tea…"

He should have gone home, but this was Bathilda Bagshot. And she had spent a significant time with his parents the last year of their lives. From the way everyone had behaved, he'd figured his parents' friends were a touchy subject. He'd found that to be true when he'd learned of Sirius Black and Severus Snape.

So, here was his chance to know a few things about life before the scar. How he could he pass that up? So he nodded. "Alright."

She patted his hand and he followed her to her home. "Have you lived here a long time?" he asked.

"For over a century. I have seen many come and go."

"Even the Dumbledores?"

She looked back at him with an amused face. "Yes, even the Dumbledores."

She had a nice little cottage with a flower garden full of begonias and dewy, trimmed grass. Inside was cozy with warm brown floors and pastel blue wallpaper. The upholstery was pastel yellow and the wood around the room matched the floor.

Pictures of her and her family were nailed to the walls. On a table with thin legs he spied a beautiful redhead and an older, hazel-eyed version of himself holding a happy, green-eyed baby. There was also a picture of an auburn haired young man with twinkling eyes – Albus Dumbledore he figured – and a handsome blond of the same age.

Harry and Mrs. Bagshot got settled after her house-elf, a humanoid creature with pointed ears, brought lunch. He munched on a ham sandwich as she spoke.

Mrs. Bagshot smiled and nodded. She spoke of a kind, cheeky Lily Potter who lacked the self awareness to realize she was almost as arrogant as the boys around her. She and James and…Sirius Black made quite the trio: talented, pretty, and conceited.

Harry listened with a smile on his face. He didn't even care that Black had been included, though he did wonder about Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, his father's other friends. He figured with the war going on they had more pressing things to do.

When conversation lulled, Harry asked, "Why history?"

Her eyes were closed as she said, "Because it is fascinating, is it not? We have just spent quite some time on it. There is so much to learn from history and still so much lost."

"Yeah, but what eleven year old looks at history and says it's her favorite?"

She laughed. It was a raspy laugh, but full of merriment all the same. "I hated history as an eleven year old. All that reading and little magic in it. But then, I, a Durmstrang student, had been curious about the other schools of the world. Hogwarts was such a fascinating subject. Four brilliant minds coming together. How _did_ they come together? What events led to Slytherin being forced from the school? Such rumors. I had to know the truth."

He opened another bottle of butterbeer. "You know Dumbledore well?" Harry was curious about his soon-to-be headmaster, if only to understand how one man could garner such loyalty.

She opened her eyes and stared at him for a minute. "I have known Albus since he was a boy, though we did not establish much of a friendship until he was twelve."

"Is he really as good as they say?"

"Better."

Harry sighed then asked, "How?"

"Naturally gifted. He was also a well read child before Hogwarts. He was a curious person with a rapid mind. He strove to know _and_ understand magic."

Harry tilted his head. "What's the difference?"

"To know is to have information on a subject or subjects through experience and education. To understand is the ability to apply a piece knowledge to a multitude of things. The simple difference between the ability to identify something and the ability to tell me the many ways to use it as well as create or discover some of your own. What and who verse why and how."

He frowned. "Well that's…simple."

"Yes, but far more difficult than it sounds and most people don't think that way anyway. They just read to know. To get through their education; to be great at their career. They use spells and potions as they are intended and nothing more. As such we are running low on inventors and scholars."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to be a scholar. I want to…" Be free was what he wanted to say, but that sounded uncool. "I want to see the world."

"Most scholars have traveled the world, learning the magiks of our neighbors. In fact, there was a time you could not call yourself scholar without having seen the world."

Harry rolled his eyes in good natured fashion. They were getting off topic. "So…I'm supposed to find something I like and study it so that I know and understand it?"

She tutted. "Not at eleven, no. Why would you wish to limit yourself so?"

"But – "

"Albus, myself…" She waved her hand around. "The Founders, Nicolas Flamel…your parents and grandfather. None of us chose a discipline until we left school. I was excellent at transfiguration, Albus was a dab hand at charms, Gryffindor knew his way around a garden, Ravenclaw was fascinated by divination. Your mother could brew, your father loved arithmancy, and Fleamont was an excellent duelist."

She looked amused again. "You are a child. You should be full of wonder and curiosity. If you find a project or have interest in something, read about it. Start your project. Even those are a learning experience. If you grow bored of it the very next day, find something else to do." She smiled at him. "I promise you will circle the drain on many ideas and wonders and sub-branches. I did and so did Albus. He had a wavering interest in dragons once…"

Harry exhaled. "I get it. I'm eleven, so I'm supposed to enjoy things. The real work comes later."

"Precisely."

Harry bit his lip. "Any other advice?"

She hummed. "History is as important as the theory and theory is as important as the practical. In simpler words, you must know the origins of the spell, know and understand how and why the spell works, and be able to cast the spell. Or brew the potion, write the rune sequence, etcetera."

"So read?"

"Precisely." She tutted at his face. "Read what you like and that which you abhor. I guarantee they will switch places often."

He sighed and shook his head. "Anything else?"

"Always start at the beginning. Never the middle or the end. Let your first book be 'rudimentary,' "introductory,' 'beginner,' or 'fundamental.' Begin with the most childish book you can find. The simplest book on transformation will not only give the keys to a smile first year transformation, but to a simple sixth year human transfiguration. I promise."

Harry shook his head. "I'll take your word for it."

"Do find out for yourself."

**xXx**

**Boost in Confidence**

**1 August 1991**

Harry stepped out a tall wardrobe made of sleek, brown wood and into a large bedroom with crisp white walls and a brown wood floor that matched the wardrobe. In fact, all the wood I the room matched. The heavy curtains that hung from the windows that overlooked the street were silk and gold and his bedding was dark red.

He had a wide bookcase full of books no eleven year old should have. He had every intention of getting to them, but he was always a bit busy. There was a radio on his nightstand and a telescope near the desk by the window.

Sitting in the chair by said window was an old man who'd aged in the time Harry knea him. He was thinner and slower and his hands shook at times. The lines on his pale face had gotten deeper. He looked his age and it saddened Harry, who understood what was to come sooner rather than later.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Arcturus said.

"Sir," Harry said

He pointed at a small stack of gifts on the floor. "Happy birthday," he said. "You may open them after."

"Thank you," he said.

Harry kicked off his shoes and walked to the other side of the room to sit on the floor beside Arcturus.

"You read all of the book?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's at the house. The one I just left. You want it back?"

"I have no use for it. You may keep it and any others you find in the house that appeal to you." He exhaled then pulled a vial from his pocket. It was full of a milky, mint green potion.

Harry eyed the potion. "Migraine Relief?"

Arcturus inclined his head. "Correct. Drink it when we are through." Then he removed his wand from his pocket. "We will begin slowly. I will attempt to influence your emotions. It is your job to remain calm."

Harry nodded.

Before he could ready himself properly, Arcturus said, "Legilimens."

An hour later, Harry was downing the potion and avoiding the sunlight.

"They are closed now," Arcturus said. "You did well. Not as well as Bella or Sirius, but better than Narcissa and Regulus. About as well Andromeda. Shame what happened to her in the end. A talented witch gone too soon."

"She's alive married to a muggleborn, isn't she?" Harry realized what Arcturus meant just as soon as he said it and rolled his eyes.

Arcturus just smirked at him.

"I have a question…how does the mind and emotion affect magic?" he asked. "The book said they're important, but never went into detail."

Arcturus exhaled through his nose. "When the mind goes, so does power," he said. "If I were to repeatedly confund or obliviate you, that would take a toll on your mind and, as result, a toll on your magic. Specific magic has its own requirements, but generally speaking negative emotions will affect your ability to perform. High emotion may cause one to over perform. There's also a certain mindset one must have to perform well period: confidence."

"Confident?"

"Magic is like a dog," Arcturus said. "Don't show fear or hesitation. The best wizards are arrogant because they are good and they are good because they are arrogant."

Harry stared at Arcturus as he recalled a memory from long ago. The first time he'd ridden a broom was at Emmeline's house in Bath. She'd set the thing on the ground then told him to say 'up.' He had. Without the slightest bit of hesitation. He'd trusted it would because of magic and because Emmeline told him to.

"I see that you understand."

"Oi!"

Arcturus laughed as he stood. "Open your gifts then meet me in the dining room for lunch."


	3. From London to Scotland

**From London to Scotland**

**1 September 1991**

The Hogwarts Express was a long, scarlet steam engine with all its doors wide open. The compartments were spacious with crimson colored seats that looked to fit six comfortably.

Harry had his back against it and Emmeline was crouched in front of him with a sad smile on her face.

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Harry said.

Emmeline pursed her lips. "You expect me to believe that after you spent the past two weeks bouncing around like a ball?"

Harry grinned. "Just 'cause I want to be away from you doesn't mean I won't miss you."

She poked his cheek. "Not nice."

"If you could go to Hogwarts or spend time with you which would you chose?"

"You are _so_ rude!" She rolled her eyes. "Hogwarts."

He snorted. "I'll miss you, though…I guess."

She sighed in exasperation. "May I have a hug then, please?"

He nodded and hugged her. She smelled of cherry blossom and sandalwood. He found he liked the smell.

After a few moments, she sighed then stood up to tower over him. "Do your best. I expect to hear you are near top of your year and…I wouldn't hate it if you were a Ravenclaw. Blue fits you."

"I think I would," he mused. "Your lot has a certain madness about them that I want no part of."

"Eccentricity," she corrected.

Harry shrugged. "There's a very thin line there that makes that almost a distinction without difference."

"Get on the train."

Harry laughed and hopped on as it whistled a second time. "Besides you said green goes with my eyes."

"And I've been paying for that comment for years," she said. "Don't make me pay for it even in eternity. Your father would never relent and deny me the peace death offers."

Terry Boot, a slim boy with black curls and blew eyes hopped on beside Harry and his mother, a tall woman with long, curly black hair and green eyes, shut the door behind him, so Harry opened the window.

"Enjoy yourselves," Mrs. Boot said.

"Of course," Harry said.

Emmeline narrowed her eyes. "Behave."

He laughed. "No."

Terry laughed and Emmeline snorted in disbelief.

As the train started moving, Harry stood on his toes to yell out the window. "That was inelegant and unbecoming. Unsuitable for a lady."

Mrs. Boot laughed beside her and he saw Emmeline tell her not to encourage him.

As the train picked up speed, both women waved until neither pair could see the other. Despite his posturing, he was sad to leave.

Harry sighed then turned to his trunk to remove a book. _Rudimentary Transformation,_ a book from a set Bathilda had gifted him. In a note she'd explained:

_Assuming you are curious as to the difference between these and your assigned books, I shall explain: 1. This focuses solely on transformation, the bulk of Hogwarts transfiguration curriculum. 2. This is a more thorough explanation. More essence of the branch and less spell work._

He then threw himself onto the seat beside his eagle owl he'd named Orion and opened it.

"Why not just read our assigned book?" Terry asked as he pulled out _Introduction to Transfiguration_.

"According to the person who gave it to me this has more theory on transformation."

Terry sat down. "What's the difference?"

Harry bit his lip. "This focuses on the branch rather than specific spells. How transformation as whole works."

"Oh," Terry said with a nod and Harry was relieved he'd understood. "I'll check that out if I have trouble, I guess."

Harry nodded. "You can read it when I finish."

The two of them settled in as they read their books. Harry placed Orion's cage on the floor and stretched out. Terry sat on the floor attempting to transform a piece of parchment.

It took hours for someone to bother them. Unfortunately, that opened the floodgates.

The first was Neville Longbottom, a chubby, round-faced blond with a nervous disposition. He was being dragged along by a bushy, brown-haired girl with brown eyes and large, front teeth.

"'Lo, Neville," Harry said.

"Hi, Harry, Terry."

The girl looked back and forth at them then said, "You're purebloods, too, then?" She stepped further into the compartment. "I've been told I'm a muggleborn, but Professor McGonagall assured me that's no problem. I've read my books cover to cover _twice_ to make certain. I don't think it's fair I've known for so little time, though, and you've known all your lives." She looked at the books in their hands. "Rudimentary Transformation? Are you having trouble understanding it? _I_ understood it just fine, but I was top of my class and I might have gone to Wycombe Abbey. That's – "

"A girl's school in High Wycombe," Harry finished, hoping to get her to stop speaking. He looked at Neville. "What can I help you with?"

"Neville's lost his toad, but it doesn't appear to be in here." She tapped the book cover. "Is this a children's book?"

Terry bit his lip, but he couldn't hide his amusement. It was all over his face. Harry wanted to throw something at it.

Only years of Bartemius teaching him diplomacy kept him from telling the girl to bugger off. Instead he said, "I would hope an adult wizard isn't studying this book."

"So then why are you?"

"Because I'm not an adult wizard," Harry said causing Terry to smile. "Is that all?"

Her cheeks pinked, but she raised her chin. "Yes, I hope the book is simple enough for you to understand so that you can keep up."

Harry rolled his eyes. He knew he shouldn't take the bait, but he wasn't mature enough for that, so, as he walked her to the door, he said, "According to Bathilda Bagshot a young wizard should always start with the simpler things."

Standing just outside the compartment, she crossed her arms with a disbelieving look on her face. "In which book did Bathilda Bagshot say that?"

"She said it to me at her house a month ago. Just like she said much of the same to _Albus_ a hundred years ago. See you later, Neville."

With that, he closed the door and locked it.

"Way to name drop," Terry said with a grin. "Bathilda Bagshot really said that?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, met her on my birthday. She even sent me the book."

Not too long after that Harry laid across the seat eying Susan Bones and Parvati Patil as they tapped on the window. He didn't move, though. He just chose to grin at them until Padma joined. She whipped out her wand then tapped the lock with it. It clicked and Susan slid the door open.

She was a chubby, round faced redhead with pretty, cornflower blue eyes. "I knew you were an arse, Potter, but I thought better of you, Terry." With that, she stomped off. Parvati stuck her tongue out at him and followed Susan.

Padma chose to enter. The Patil girls were a set of identical, Indian twins with smooth, brown-skin and long, shiny black hair. Padma's was pulled back into a ponytail and it still touched her waist. They had rectangular shaped faces with full lips and long, narrow noses.

She looked at the book. "So you _are_ reading a rudimentary book. _The_ Bathilda Bagshot really told you to read that? Or are you lying?" She looked at Terry. "Padma Patil."

He waved. "Terry Boot."

"Not only did she tell me to read it…" Harry said as he stood up. He rummaged through his trunk then pulled out a folded parchment. "She sent me a set with this as the first."

Padma looked at the letter and her eyes grew wide like saucers. "You have to introduce me."

"No."

"Please?"

He just laid back on the seat.

"If I have trouble I'll know what to do then," she mused. "So what did you say to the Granger girl?"

"Who?"

Padma wiggled her fingers at her two front teeth.

"Oh, nothing," Harry said. "She tried to call me dense 'cause it's rudimentary. Guess this is supposed to be different 'cause it's not assigned." He shrugged. She could go on the list to. "Hope she's in Ravenclaw."

Padma shook her head with a grin. "Said she wants to be a Gryffindor. Hope you and Pav enjoy yourselves."

"I'm in the boys' dorm and I have my ways to avoid people."

She rolled her eyes. "If you say so." She pointed her chin at the book. "So what's different?"

Terry looked at her. "You want to be a Ravenclaw? Me, too."

She smiled. "Let the games begin."

"You'll all lose to me, so I don't see why you should try so hard. As for the book, it's the 'essence' of transformation."

They spent quite some time discussing transformation and when Harry pulled out the advanced book, which was full of human transfiguration, they spoke on the Animagus Transformation.

"I'll probably do it one day," Harry said, "but I'm not registering unless I'm something wicked."

"You're either a flobberworm or a bird."

Terry snorted.

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. "I hope not, though it would be brilliant to fly without a broom." He looked up as a lightbulb seemed to flicker on. "But I shouldn't need wings to do that," he mused.

He wondered how he'd go about that. Padma said her goodbyes soon after, leaving him to ponder the question. Would he need to invent a spell? Or would he be able to propel himself without a wand?

That led to Harry pondering broomsticks. He'd read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ cover to cover many times over, so he knew there was nothing in it that spoke of broomsticks as tool the same way wands were, but…brooms and snitches are enchanted to fly weren't they?

At least brooms were. He supposed.

Harry sighed as his stomach rumbled. He picked up his lunch bag to find a BLT, a bottle of cold butterbeer, and crisps inside.

Excellent.

He used a few sickles to purchase a few more Fizzing Whizzbees and Jelly Slugs and had a hearty lunch.

Cormac stopped by to say hello, but the next notable guest was Draco Malfoy. He slid open the door (he'd forgot to re-lock it) and entered followed by two girls Harry had only seen in passing.

Malfoy was a slim boy with a pale, pointed face and cold, gray eyes. His hair was white blond and currently slicked back. Harry figured Malfoy thought it looked good, but all it did was make his forehead more prominent. In fact, it looked like his hairline was receding.

Behind him was a pale, pug-faced girl with a black bob that stopped at her jaw. Her lips were pink and a bit puffy and a few freckles littered her nose and spread to her cheeks.

The last of them was a chubby girl with golden blonde hair and hazel eyes. She had a tanned, heart-shaped face with a button nose and full, puffy lips that made her all very pretty. Harry supposed Malfoy had his uses.

"Good afternoon, Draco."

"Potter," Draco said as he sat down.

Harry pointed at Terry. "Terry Boot."

Terry waved.

The black-haired girl cleared her throat.

"Oh, right." Draco rolled his eyes. "This is Pansy Parkinson and that's Daphne Greengrass. They decided to tag along."

Harry nodded at them. He knew the surnames, but he wouldn't judge. Especially not Greengrass, who took the seat beside him. He pointed his chin at her. "You're out for Slytherin, too?"

"Yes," Pansy said. "It's tradition. You?"

Harry looked at her. "We all follow tradition."

"So you're out to be a potioneer then?" Daphne asked.

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"Severus doesn't like Gryffindors," Draco said.

Harry almost rolled his eyes at the name dropped, but then remembered what he'd said to Granger just an hour before. He stamped down the queasy feeling then ignored the parallel altogether.

He'd heard rumors and whispers of the Hogwarts Potions Master for years. A cruel man who favored his Slytherins, but still many of them didn't like him either.

"He's a cunt," Terence Higgs, a soon to be fifth year prefect, had said to Harry two Augusts ago on their annual summer hunting trip. "He doesn't really like anyone not named Rosier or Avery. Malfoy will probably be his favorite though. It's just…Slytherins stick together."

Last year, while having lunch, Emmeline told him, "Your father and Snape hated each other." She had sighed then said, "I shouldn't tell you this, but once upon a time he was best friends with your mother. It was the oddest friendship that both had to answer to for years. It was a source of contention between your mother she many of the muggleborns. How could she hate James Potter and Sirius Black so while defending Severus Snape?"

"My mother hated my father?" was what he'd picked up.

Emmeline had smiled at him and patted his hand. "Yes, but only because she was attracted to him." She'd laughed at Harry's confusion. "You'll get it one day. Anyway, James and Snape would curse each other, but while Snape was underhanded and – " she'd rolled her eyes, "cunning. James and Sirius preferred public embarrassment. They thrived on attention. For years, Snape called James and Sirius and all the muggleborns he'd called the M-word liars because he never did anything in front Lily or professors."

"So my father hated Snape because he fancied my mother and my mother hated my father because he hated Snape?"

Emmeline had inclined her head.

"So what was Snape's problem?"

"I confess that I don't know the inner workings of Severus Snape's mind, but my guess is that James was popular and Lily's attraction was obvious for anyone who looked closely."

Harry had tilted his head. "My mother was popular, too."

"Yes, but not in the way James Potter and Sirius Black were," she had said. "They were all popular and talented and pretty, but your father and Sirius were wealthy pureblood wizards who had all the girls, and a lot of the boys, eating from their hands. Severus Snape was an ugly, oddball who, while talented, went largely unnoticed save for his potions' skills, but even then James Potter and Sirius Black were good at that, too."

That above all else had made Harry cross Slytherin House off his list. Ambition and determination and a sense of fraternity were all great things, but he could be and have that in the other houses.

In the end Harry just shrugged at Draco. "He's not the only potioneer in the world that could help me."

"Using everything at your disposal is a good way to get what you want," Bartemius had said once.

He didn't know if being Harry Potter could get him to the knee of Damocles Belby, but it could get him to someone in the world. All he had to do was ask the right person. He just had to figure out who that was.

He turned to Daphne. "What are you after?"

"Creatures, but I'm willing to put up with Defense and Herbology until third year."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Herbology sounds like a chore."

Daphne blinked at him. "You want to be a potioneer…"

"And it's gonna take me a long time to master if I have to pull weeds." Been there, done that, he was not looking forward to gardening. "What's your favorite creature? Mine's the griffin. Chimera's a close second."

Turns out Daphne had a thing for cats and snakes, so, ignoring Pansy's sour look and Draco's bored one, the two of them spoke on the chimera for quite some time and how they both wanted to travel around Greece one day.

"I've been," Daphne said. "Mummy is a Thanos, but I'm hardly allowed to go anywhere."

Harry knew the surname and rumors surrounding the Thanos family. Immortal it meant and many speculated that they were Herpo the Foul's descendants. Harry and the Potters had their own secrets to keep he kept learning.

An invisibility cloak and his ability to speak with snakes, for instance.

When Pansy had had enough of being ignored, the trio left, leaving Harry and Terry alone to continue reading.

Before looking at his book, Terry said, "She's pretty, don't you think?" Apparently, Harry had been a little too…obvious.

"Parkinson looks like a dog, but if that's what you like I'm no one to judge."

Terry laughed out loud then threw a chocolate frog at his face.

People he knew stopped to tap on the glass and wave or open the door and speak, but none of them stayed for too long. Only Cormac did when the sun had long set.

"Put on your robes, firsties, we're almost there."

Harry couldn't help the grin that formed on his lips. He jumped up and tossed the book, which he was more than half way through with, in his trunk then grabbed a robe.

When he was dressed, he sat back down, fully aware that he was once again bouncing.

Cormac laughed at him. "I should take a picture to send to Emmeline."

Harry stuck out his tongue then leapt up when the train slowed. His heart pounded in his chest when it came to a full stop.

The doors opened and the two stepped out in the cool night where the sky was velvety black and clear, the stars twinkled, and the moon was in its last quarter.

"You have to go to Hagrid, the big oaf down there." Cormac pointed a threatening finger. "I better see you later."

Harry stuck out his foot causing Cormac to stumble, much to the amusement of those around.

Terence, a tall, weedy prefect with shiny, black hair that had a side-part, winked at him.

Eddie Carmichael, a long-faced blond with pink cheeks and green eyes, clapped his shoulder. They'd met at Cormac's house last December. "Good job, Potter."

"Potter?" a pretty, east Asian girl said. She had long, lustrous black hair and glittering black eyes with pink, bow-shaped lips and freckles that danced across her upturned nose. She looked at Harry with wide eyes. "Hi."

Harry waved.

"Cho Chang."

"Harry Potter."

He met a few more of the surrounding Ravenclaws and introduced Terry to them. Namely Marietta Edgecombe, Roger Davies, Brandon Chambers, and Marcus Belby. He also said hello to Melissa Marchbanks and Ophelia Ogden.

Harry separated from the group when he saw Hagrid, a large man at least twice the size of an average one. He had a bushy beard full of straggly, brown hair and beedy, black eyes.

He smiled at Harry, who waved back. He had often had dreams of the night his parents died. One was of the motorcycle ride with Hagrid, who, he'd been told, rescued him from Godric's Hollow.

When they all had surrounded Hagrid, he led them away from the platform and down a steep, narrow path.

Harry took out his wand and whispered, "Lumos." He rolled his eyes when it flickered, but the tip steadied and stayed lit.

"Thank, Merlin!" Pansy said behind them.

He looked back. "I'm Harry."

Daphne grinned and Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You're speaking to me now?"

Harry snorted, but didn't give her a verbal answer.

The path, which had been flanked with tall, thick trees, opened on the edge of a vast, black lake, but Harry's eyes were on the enormous castle across it with its tall turrets and towers and sparkling windows he could see even in the distance.

"Brilliant," he whispered. "Nox," he whispered and the tip of his wand went out.

Harry and Terry found themselves in a boat with the Pansy and Daphne. Harry made certain to sit next to Daphne.

Forward!" Hagrid boomed when all the boats were full.

Both he and Pansy were surprised to see the boats move all at once.

"Brilliant trick," Harry said. He knew that plenty of their spells were in English, but he didn't know if that was one. It was magic, of course, but it was probably just a trigger akin the placing the tip of a wand on a brick.

The boats rocked gently as they made their way to the castle. Torches were lit outside the castle, illuminating the vast grounds that seemed to go on for an eternity, though one side met even taller trees that appeared to make up a forest. The Forbidden Forest, he knew.

The four were silent for the journey to the great castle. The boats made their way past a sheet of ivy and into a dark, narrow tunnel carved into the cliff the stone castle had been built upon. Harry felt a hand grab onto his and looked up to see Daphne's embarrassed face.

The boats stopped on some harbor and they crawled out, stepping on jagged rocks and stone.

Pansy threw out a hand. "Potter."

Harry snorted and made to keep walking, but she grabbed onto his robes so that he stumbled a little. "Oi"

"Help me."

He huffed and yanked her hand, roughly pulling her up to the grounds. She shrieked behind him, but he refused to relent, despite almost slipping a few times himself.

"You are no gentleman!" she said when they reached flat ground.

Harry bowed. "You're welcome." He then turned on his heel and followed the rest of his year mates.

They stood outside a pair of tall oak doors. Hagrid knocked, or banged in his case, twice.

Moments later, one swung open, revealing Professor McGonagall. "You're a bit late, Hagrid. I feared you got lost."

She stepped aside then, allowing them to enter the great Entrance Hall. Lit torches were against the stone wall. Two sets of hourglasses stood on either side of the doors. The top portion of one was filled with sapphire stones and the one next to it was full of rubies. Emeralds and yellow diamonds were in the other two. The ceiling was far too high to make out as well as the end of the grand, marble staircase that faced them.

Professor McGonagall took them to a small, empty chamber off the hall and made a speech about the houses and point system. After, she left them alone for a few minutes only for them to be joined by some of the ghosts.

She shooed them away when she returned.

"Form a line," she said when they were gone, "and follow me."

They were led into the Great Hall which was impossibly large with an impressive ceiling that looked –

"It's enchanted to look like the night sky," he heard Hermione Granger whisper to anyone who would listen. "I read it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was velvety black with the same waning half moon and twinkling stars and the thousands of candles that hovered beneath it made it look heavenly. There were four tables full of students and each was lined with glittering, gold dishes.

Their line came to a halt in front of the high table which was full of professors. So, with their backs to them and facing the students they listened to an old hat on a rickety-looking stool sing a song.

"You'll make your _real_ friends," Daphne repeated in his ear.

"Where dwell the brave at heart?"

Daphne looked at him in disgust as Professor McGonagall said, "Abbott, Hannah."

"Hufflepuff," Daphne said under his breath.

"I could've told you that," Harry said, familiar with the name.

Hannah went to Hufflepuff and Susan followed her. Terry Boot was the first Ravenclaw. Lavender Brown was the first Gryffindor. And Millicent Bulstrode was the first Slytherin.

Predictable.

Harry wondered if any of them were bold enough to go against the grain.

He doubted it.

On and on the list went and with every name Harry grew more antsy.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

Less than a minute later, she was a Slytherin. Draco, Theodore, and some girl named Lilith Moon joined her not ten minutes later. Soon enough Pansy was at her right.

The Patil twins went to Ravenclaw then Gryffindor. Then…

"Potter, Harry!"

He exhaled and he'd swear the whole hall heard it for they all fell silent at his name. He walked over to the stool as many in the hall stood to get a better look at him. As the hat fell over his head he saw hundreds of eyes on him.

"Potter, Potter, Potter," a voice said. "Hmmm…interesting and difficult. Very difficult. There's bravery, yes, and a curious mind. Quite thirsty to prove yourself, too. So…where shall I put you?"

Harry did his best not to squirm.

"No answer?" the old hat asked.

"Gryffindor," he said.

The hat chuckled in his ear. "Are you certain? Greatness lies in another house. Imagine the possibilities with Harry Potter in Slytherin. Do you dare, Potter?"

Harry hesitated, but only for a moment. "I can be great anywhere."

"Yes, I believe so, too, but you will be at your best in Slytherin. Is that not what you want? To be at your best? To live up to expectation?"

Harry's heart thundered in his ears. "I want to surpass it."

"That is most possible in Slytherin," the hat said. "You are destined for greatness and the greatest you can be is in Slytherin."

Harry closed his eyes. He'd longed to be in Gryffindor; to follow in his father's footsteps. Bold, brave, daring James Potter.

"Ambitious, resourceful, and determined James Potter," the hat cooed in his ear. "James Potter the leader. Come Harry, what's more daring than going against the grain? Be brave and spit on tradition."

His heart beat slowed and he opened his eyes to a wall of black.

The hat laughed in his ear. "Your wish is my command, Harry...SLYTHERIN!"

Harry snorted as McGonagall snatched the hat off his head. She looked aghast.

"I think I'm about to fully understand bravery," he said before hopping off the stool.

The hall was silent for a moment. You could no doubt hear a rat squeak. Then Terence, beautiful Terence, stood. "Yes!"

The far right table broke out into a thunderous applause. Many banged their goblets or stomped their feet. The rest of the hall applauded in a more sedated fashion. Stunned applause if you will.

He took a seat next to Terence, who patted his shoulder. "Well done."

**xXx**

After dinner, Terence and another prefect, Gemma Farley, a short, pale fifth year with black curls and dark eyes, led them down a dark, narrow staircase.

"Lumos," Harry said.

"No magic in the corridors," Gemma said, "but good job."

He turned off the tip when they reached the landing of a lit corridor with a low, dark ceiling and rough, dark stone walls. They then took them through a maze until they stopped in front of a blank stretch of wall.

"Password changes every two weeks," Terence said. "Immaculate."

A vertical line appeared in the middle of the stretch of wall then the sides came apart revealing a long, low common room.

The walls and ceiling were rough stone like outside, but the floor was covered by smooth, gray carpet of velvet material. Greenish lamps hung from the low ceiling. Emerald green, bottom-tufted chairs and sofas went around the room and the carved wood was dark in hue. Had it not been for the light he'd have thought it black.

Gemma turned to them. "Tomorrow morning, we'll hand you your schedules. Every year after, they'll be on that table under the bulletin board. If you want to find your way back to the Great Hall, be down here no later than eight thirty tomorrow." She pointed to a door on her right. "Girls dorms through there. Boys' through that one," she finished.

Terence tilted his head. "Follow me, boys."

They were led up another narrow staircase, these were made of dark wood, however. "These will be your dorms until you leave." He stopped outside a dark door with a silver plate. Carved in it was COBRA.

Terence pushed open the door as he said, "We have a lot of room down here. So two to a bedroom."

Before Draco could move, Theodore Nott, a weedy boy with wavy, brown hair, latched onto Harry and pulled him to another door that said KING COBRA. Draco glared at Theodore.

Terence licked his lips as he fought a smile. "Eight thirty, lads. See you in the morning. Good night, children."

With that, Harry turned a silver knob and they entered a room with a thick, black carpet and emerald green lighting. The curtains hanging from the ebony wood frames of the four poster beds was emerald green and silver. The comforter was a darker green with a silver snake in the center. There were two desks and a bathroom to their left. They also had a two windows that showed the lake. Merpeople swam by the window, glaring at them. Harry had to close those curtains.

"Sorry," Theodore said. His voice was hoarse, probably from lack of use. "Draco talks too much and my father is rich."

Harry snorted and grinned. He knew the name Blaise Zabini. His mother was Shamira Shafiq, a beautiful woman and widow of several wealthy men who had all died mysteriously.

"You'll be seventeen soon," he said, "so you should be happy, too."

Harry shook his head then went off to shower and consider the consequences of his actions. He hoped they wouldn't be too great.

**xXx**

Way back in London, two portraits were clearing their throats.

One was a redhead donned in powder blue robes. Her portrait was by the fireplace of a room crafted with white marble. The upholstery was black velvet and the wood was stained black and often framed class.

Emmeline looked at her great aunt many times over with a raised, sculpted eyebrow.

Elizabeth Burke cackled. "Slytherin."

Beside her, Amelia Bones chocked on the brandy she'd been sipping. "What?!"

Emmeline just laughed. "I'll never know peace. Not even in death."

In another part of town, Arcturus Black stared at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, a clever looking wizard with wavy, black hair and dark eyes, dressed in Slytherin green robes. He sat in his bedroom, which still had the lavender walls his wife had been fond of.

"Well done, Arcturus, well done," Phineas said.

Arcturus just crossed his arms.

"Harry Potter has been sorted into Slytherin."

Arcturus smiled then chuckled a bit. That turned into an out and out guffaw. Still laughing, he poured himself a glass of whiskey. He raised his glass. "Good luck, boy." He downed it in one, but almost choked due to the lump in his throat. He'd send the boy a letter or two, but he doubted he'd ever get to look upon his face again.

* * *

**Thanks for reading.**


	4. Masters and Mistresses of Disappointment

**Masters and Mistresses of Disappointment**

**A Constant Interest in Flying**

**2 September 1991**

As luck would have it, classes started on a Monday.

His first ever class was History of Magic.

Exciting.

It was taught by the ghost of Cuthbert Binns, who'd died in the very room after falling asleep grading papers.

Binns droned on and on and Harry only half listened. He'd have to speak with Eddie about what books he'd gone through. The Ravenclaw had self-studied for Potions, History, and Defense coming away top of his year with O's in everything save for potions, which was an EE.

Instead of listening, Harry just cracked open his rudimentary book. He was on he last few chapters and hoped to get to the last few pages by Transfiguration that afternoon.

When class was over, Harry, to no one in particular, asked, "What's the assignment?"

"Uric the Oddball," Draco answered.

Harry frowned. "The mad Ravenclaw?"

"Oi!" some of the Ravenclaws said.

"Eccentric," Padma corrected.

Harry snorted. "He wore a jellyfish hat and we call him the oddball."

"Judgmental," Terry scolded. He smiled at Harry, who felt his shoulders loosen just a bit.

"Mental, indeed."

The next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs.

Professor Quirrell, a man dressed in green robes and a matching turban, stuttered so terribly, Harry cracked open Rudimentary Transformation for another hour and half. He was sure to be on the last few pages by that afternoon.

He frowned at the book. It wasn't too thick, but it was hardly thin. He supposed reading for the greater part of eight hours the previous day had done the trick.

He did take time to write down the creatures Quirrell mentioned. He even managed to write down the assignment: hags.

After lunch came Transfiguration. He hadn't finished his book, but he was through with the majority of it and brimming with excitement.

He sat at the end of the table, next to Daphne and across from Dean Thomas, who Harry waved at, earning himself a number of looks from both sides of the aisle.

Professor McGonagall turned her desk into a pig. "Can anyone classify the magic I just performed?"

Hermione's hand shot up. "General transformation, Professor."

"Five points to Gryffindor. Now, Miss Granger said general transformation. What other transformations are there?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, but pale green eyes meet bright green as the owner of the latter was busy stuffing a jelly slug into his mouth. He should've chosen a middle seat.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Switching spells and human transfiguration."

She nodded. "Try to keep your sweet eating outside my classroom."

"Of course, Professor." There were a few giggles when he stuffed the slugs in his fist into his mouth.

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes and sighed before returning to her lesson. For the remaining hour and a half they took notes and Harry did just that, though, he couldn't say he learned anything new.

"So I guess you're not brave then?" Dean said during their break. He'd walked over to stand next to Harry's table.

Harry smiled up at the taller boy. "Most of my family has been in Gryffindor. Everyone, including me, expected Harry Potter to be a Gryffindor and now I share a house with a bunch of people with parents who hate me. If nothing else, I'm daring and very brave."

Dean frowned. "Gryffindor would've been the safe choice?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Safest place."

Dean clapped his shoulder. "Best of luck to you."

After break, Harry retook his seat and ten minutes later he could say he learned something new when she started in on the actual spell. When she finished, she handed out matchsticks. Their objective? Turn it into a needle.

Harry, with more arrogance than he thought he possessed, jabbed his wand at the matchstick. "Transvertus."

The matchstick didn't change completely, but it elongated and thinned and turned silver.

Excellent.

"Wanna explain how you did that?"

"The shape is easiest to change because it's what's similar. Color is the easiest thing to change because..." He shrugged. "Probably has something to do with location on a color wheel." Harry shook his head. "I really don't know how to explain it."

Daphne stared at him then tried for herself. It took her most of the class, but she did get it to elongate and thin.

"Wonderful," she said.

The only other member of the class to see a change was Hermione, who had turned her end pointy. Harry had managed to round the other, but could not create the eye, make the other end pointy, nor make the whole thing metal.

He understood why he was having trouble with the last one. The substance was the least common thing between the match and needle. He just needed to figure out what he was forgetting.

That evening, Harry was surrounded by a number of books about broomsticks. He had come with Daphne and Pansy. They'd finished their two assignments and left.

Harry had decided to stay with Eddie, who was looking up something for Potions.

He had, after skimming the books, come to the conclusion that brooms were a lot like wands with one singular yet very important difference: the core. The core, he was certain, enabled wands to 'choose the wizard.' Brooms did not have that ability, but they were both foci for magic; tools to channel magic. Or certain magic, in the case of broomsticks.

That had led to another conclusion: wizards could fly without a broom or wings. One just needed enough talent.

That still begged the question: spell or magical power?

In the end, he decided to try the beaten path: spell. Unfortunately, that required knowledge he didn't posses. Fortunately, he had one of the greatest libraries at his disposal.

He knew he had to start at the beginning. That had been established and reinforced. And he also didn't want to die, so he could be patient.

But…the beginning of what?

He had language down. Barty spoke some of everything, so Harry was well learned in a few languages, including Latin and Greek, modern and medieval.

After a while he realized there were a few beginnings he needed to start at. Then, while staring up at a shelf of books, he questioned if this was truly an endeavor he wished to undertake. Deciding that yes, he did and that he would end up learning most of what was required, he chose the hardest to start: arithmancy.

**xXx**

**Showin' Off**

**6 September 1991**

The rest of his week had gone well until Friday.

They'd spent all morning in the greenhouses the very next day. Professor Sprout, a portly woman dressed in patched, fading robes, started with the Fire-Making Spell. She spent the first part of the double on it and spoke of many of the plants that required it.

The second half had been dedicated to planting nettle. Harry found himself working with Neville, who seemed to like the subject, which was fantastic because Harry hated gardening. He'd try to work with Neville every class.

Double Charms had been after lunch and, much to his disappointment, all they did was take notes and go through Magical Theory.

"You'll do that until November," Cormac told him. "Then you'll learn a new spell every week after."

Astronomy had been on Tuesday at midnight. Harry found the whole thing terribly boring and had done his best not to yawn for an hour. He did better than Blaise, though, who had kept nodding off.

Fortunately, Harry knew more than enough about Astronomy and Daphne had been willing to share her notes."

On Thursday he'd managed to change his matchstick into a needle and vice versa. He'd figured out his problem: detail. He hadn't considered what he wanted the metal to be. He hadn't thought much about the needle at all, in fact.

It had taken him most of the class to get it just right. After, he'd tried for more detail.

"Now you're just showing off," Daphne said when he had held up a scarlet and gold striped needle.

Harry had grinned. He'd showed off, but he'd also had fun. By the time Professor McGonagall had come around, he was showing Daphne, who had, once again, sat next to him, a green and black needle he was trying to make serpentine.

Professor Mcgonagall took it then eyed it. "Why is it curved?"

"I wanted to make it look like a snake," Harry had said. "Can't seem to do that, though."

She had nodded. "You will learn how to add detail as the year goes on, but this is an impressive start. Ten points to Slytherin."

Friday brought Potions. While he'd been looking forward to brewing again, he couldn't say he was looking forward to the class. He'd seen Snape eying him at mealtimes. There was more hate in his eyes for Harry than Vernon and Petunia had in theirs combined.

So with dreaded anticipation, he entered the cold, dark dungeon classroom where the ceiling was low and the walls were rough, black stone.

Harry sat next to Draco who was next to Theodore. Millicent Bulstrode was at the end. The four of them were at the back of the room. Harry so wanted to switch seats with Millicent, who was pretty much hidden in a corner, but pride kept him where he was.

Professor Snape, a bony, sallow skinned man with greasy, black hair that framed his face and black eyes that looked to be deep, dark tunnels of misery, seemed to swoop into the room. Dressed in all black with his cloak billowing behind him, Harry was strongly reminded of a great bat.

He started off by taking attendance. When his name came up, Snape looked down his long, hooked nose at him. "Mr. Potter, our new celebrity."

Harry just raised his eyebrows.

He then continued with a speech that sounded inspiring until he alluded to them possibly being "dunderheads" then took attendance.

"Potter!" he snapped.

Harry jumped. "Sir?"

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand shot up and he rolled his eyes, both at his professor and classmate. "Some consider the white plant to be the true aconite, but they're the same thing really."

Snape's nostrils flared for just a moment. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"The Draught of Living Death," Harry answered. It was a NEWT potion and a thoroughly unfair question that he enjoyed answering if only because it made Snape's eye twitch.

"If I asked you to bring me a bezoar, where would you get it from?"

Harry just managed to stop himself from saying 'your cupboard.' Aloud he said, "The stomach of a goat, sir."

"What is the common ingredient between memory potions and truth serums?"

"Jobberknoll feathers, Professor."

Snape flushed. "How do you turn Skele-Gro from emerald green to its final form?"

Oh that was easy. He'd studied every potion invented by a Potter, the original and current recipes. "You shred the cabbage – Chinese chomping cabbage that is – then add them piece by piece. It becomes smoky and milky white."

Snape appeared to forcibly keep his lip from curling. In the end, he just turned on his heel and went to the blackboard to write the recipe for the Boil Cure Potion.

Everything went fine for Harry after that, even if Snape found the smallest thing to criticize before singing Draco's praises.

In the last fifteen minutes, Harry took his cauldron off the fire then added his porcupine quills, turning the potion from a milky mint green to a shimmering pink. Draco followed soon after and the two cleaned up their station.

They were just finishing up when they heard something sizzle and hiss. Harry looked around to see Neville's cauldron melting and the boy himself growing boils and sobbing as a result.

"Idiot boy," Snape snapped when he neared. "Thomas, take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing."

"Pathetic," Draco muttered with a laugh in his throat.

Snape spun around at Draco's chuckle only to lay an accusing, hateful stare on Harry. Harry, unafraid, stared back.

It was only after fighting off several unrelated thoughts did Harry recognize what Snape was doing. With haste, he conjured the picture of him and his parents he'd seen at Bathilda's. Snape's face flushed and twisted and Harry stamped down a grin.

This all happened in a matter of seconds, but most of the class saw.

"What was that about?" Draco hissed in his ear.

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea."

**xXx**

**Defining Moment**

**12 September 1991**

It was late in the afternoon and the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors were out on the grounds of Hogwarts. Mid September provided them with a cool breeze, but the sun was out and the skies were clear.

Each student stood beside an old broom. Harry grimaced at the thing that laid to his right. The handle was scratched and the twigs were twisted and bent. He hoped the thing would hold up.

"Hold your hand above the broom and say 'up,'" said Madam Hooch, a silver-haired woman with yellowish, hawk like eyes.

Harry stuck out his hand. "Up!"

The broom smacked into his hand as he knew it would. He looked around then. Most of the brooms were still on the ground jumping only a few inches. Hermione and Neville's weren't moving at all. Only Tracey Davis, a light skinned black girl with a puff ponytail and green eyes, had managed to raise hers.

Harry watched as Draco got his to rise, too.

He looked back down at Neville then Hermione and narrowed his eyes. Hermione would probably be first in the year, if only because of Potions, History, and Astronomy. When it came to books and a classroom, she was arrogant and snooty, but one couldn't learn how to ride broom by reading a book. She was out of her element and lacked her arrogance.

Neville was insecure and anxious in everything except Herbology. He would be near the bottom of the middle. Herbology, as well as Crabbe, Goyle, and Hannah Abbot, would save him from being at the very bottom.

Draco was as arrogant as one could be and Tracey Davis was staring him, Harry, down, in challenge.

And Harry had no problem admitting he was conceited in everything he was good at.

Harry dropped the broom. "Up," he said. This time it only rose halfway and stayed at that height as he had intended.

"Stop showing off," said Daphne said, "and help me."

Harry looked at her. "Be confident. The broom is nothing to be afraid of." When Dean just looked at him, he said, "I'm serious."

Daphne exhaled. "Up." The broom smacked into her hand.

Madam Hooch eventually told the rest to pick up the broom then mount. She adjusted their hands, but Harry paid her critiques no mind. One, he knew how to fly and two, he felt he was on the cusp of discovery.

As Neville's broom took off, he thought on his first two weeks and the way he practiced magic. He couldn't say he'd been timid. No, he had approached everything with confidence; conceit.

Just as Arcturus had advised.

He really should learn to listen.

He thought about the witches and wizards he knew. Bartemius, Emmeline, Amelia, and Rufus…they were good and they knew it. Hell, Eddie Carmichael, a braggart of the highest order, knew it.

He was certain Voldemort, Dumbledore, and even his parents knew it.

Neville, a timid boy, hit the ground and most of the class rushed over. Harry stayed put, too lost in thought to notice much.

He would, in years to come, remember little of Neville when he spoke of this moment. He would only remark on his broom not leaping into his hand as that would be essential to the story: the tale of him shedding all insecurities; all the doubts of not living up to expectation or Albus Dumbledore because, regardless, he'd still be a damn good wizard and he'd approach magic as such.

**xXx**

On the way back to the common room, Harry ran into Marcus Flint, a muscular fifth year that smelled liked what Harry imagined a troll smelled like. He'd wondered if it had been the inbreeding, but he immediately crossed it off. Arcturus had never mentioned his grandsons having a particular stench and Narcissa, daughter of two third cousins, smelled just fine.

The boy might just be part troll.

Harry stepped away from Flint.

"Tryouts are Saturday," Flint breathed. Of course, he was a mouth breather.

"What's that got to do with me?" Harry asked. "I want to be a seeker."

Flint grabbed his arm. He'd have to burn these robes. "Did you hear what the hat said about Slytherins? Any means to achieve their ends part?"

"Seeing as my Quidditch dreams go far beyond this school, I see no reason to – ahh – have a by any means necessary approach. Besides, I can't even bring my broom to school and McLaggen isn't going to let me borrow his."

**xXx**

**Where Dwell the…**

**13 September 1991**

Harry realized his mistake the very next day when Snape demanded he stay after class.

Before the door could close, Snape swooped down on him causing Harry to take a step back. "Are you under the impression that because you are the resident celebrity that the rules will bend for you?"

Harry, having no idea as to what Snape was on about, blinked. "No," he answered slowly.

"Or did you expect me to bend them for you because you are a Slytherin?"

Again, his reply was slow. "No?" He shook his head. "What is this about?"

"Flint gave me your request," Snape drawled.

"Huh?"

Snape curled his lip. "So not only are you as arrogant as your father, you are as daft as him, too."

Harry raised his eyebrows then took a stab in the dark. "If…my father was daft what does it make you if he was near top of his class in everything and the only thing you had on him was potions?"

Snape flushed then took a step forward. Nail on head. Excellent. "Detention. Tonight. For lying and disrespect."

"The only lie was that my father was daft," Harry drawled in a tone akin to Snape' previous bored one.

"Make it a week."

Harry shrugged. "Are we through?"

"Get out!"

Harry turned on his heel then took his time leaving the room, which was for Snape's benefit as he really didn't wish to be in the room anymore. Once outside the classroom, he all but stomped back to his room.

"What's your problem?" Theodore asked when Harry. He was laying against his propped up pillows with a book in his hand. Quidditch Through the Ages by the looks of it.

"Snape," he snapped.

Theodore raised his eyebrows. "What'd he want?"

"I don't bloody well know, do I?" Harry scoffed. "The ogre probably asked him if I could have a broom. He'll pay for that."

Theodore grinned. "How exactly do you plan to pay Flint back?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll give him a bath." But he had an idea. He'd have to use his cloak…

"So what did Snape say?"

"He called my father daft."

Theodore sat up. "You should tell someone."

Harry shook his head. "Pretty sure my father's not the first parent he's insulted and s'not like people haven't complained about Snape before."

You're not people, a voice that sounded a lot like Arcturus' drawled in his head. Harry stamped it down.

"Actually, your father is probably the first," Theodore said. "You probably don't know this, but our grandmother's were sisters, so my father knows a bit about James Potter. He would've fit right in with Lucius had he been sorted into Slytherin, but he probably would've run the group. A talented version of Draco, my father said. I imagine he was a bit less insufferable, though."

Harry looked at Theodore. "No, he probably was just as annoying. So…me and McLaggen mixed together."

"There you go," Theodore said. "He and Snape hated each other."

"So I've been told, but that was thirteen and twenty years ago and James Potter is dead," Harry said.

Theodore shrugged. "Father says Snape knows how to hold a grudge."

Harry wondered how Tristan Nott knew that. He was significantly older than Snape. Thirty-five or so years, in fact. And Theodore was his only son…

"Anyway," Theodore said after clearing his throat, "you should speak to Mcgonagall. You are Harry Potter, her current best student and son of her favorite of all time."

Harry sighed. "That's not going to make her do anything, but we'll see."

Later that evening, before his detention, Harry found himself knocking on McGonagall's office door.

"Enter," he heard.

Harry stepped into the office, which had emerald green wallpaper and stone floors. Windows were on the opposite and left sides of the room. McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, which was also opposite the door.

"Good evening, Potter."

"Professor." Harry closed the door with his back then walked over to her desk. It looked as if she was grading papers. Someone had given her terrible work of all the red ink was any indication. He sat in one of the comfortable looking green chairs and sighed. "I have a problem with my Head of House"

Without looking up she said, "I can do nothing about your detentions. Not that I am inclined to. What possessed you to insult Professor Snape's intelligence?"

"He called my father daft, so I asked him what that made him seeing as James Potter got better grades than him, which, by the by, is my problem."

She looked up then placed her quill in the inkpot before folding her hands. "Your issue is that Professor Snape insulted your father?"

"Yes."

"What is it that you expect me to do?"

Harry blinked. Twice. "Make…him stop?"

"Potter, Professor Snape is a…demanding professor. Both in potions and respect. Maybe try to keep your head down and refrain from inciting his ire?"

Harry sat back and snorted in disbelief. "I didn't incite his ire and even if I did that is no reason to insult my father."

"Your and Professor Snape had an intense, mutual dislike for each other."

"It's nineteen ninety one, Professor."

She raised an eyebrow. "I am aware of the year, but thank you."

"Then you are also aware that that was thirteen years ago at the latest and that James Potter has been dead for ten years…right?"

Her nostrils flared at his condescending tone, but, as he'd realized she was, indeed, not going to help him, he didn't care.

"So I'm confused as to what Snape and my father's 'intense, mutual dislike' has to do with me?"

"Professor Snape, Potter," she corrected. "And you look a lot like your father."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Draco, who is far more arrogant than I am, looks a lot like Lucius, but I haven't seen anyone, including Snape, insulting Lucius. Is that because Lucius is alive, because he's a governor, or because Snape is his friend?"

"I don't appreciate whatever you are insinuating, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I don't appreciate being blamed for Snape's ridiculousness."

"I did not blame – "

Harry made quotes with his fingers. "'Maybe keep your head down and try not to incite his ire' is what you said. And I don't know why you think keeping my head down will help when you just said Snape was being immature – "

"I said no such thing. Do not put words in my mouth."

"You just said Snape's problem with me has everything to do with me looking like my father. Is that not immaturity?"

Her nostrils flared again and her lips thinned. "You will be late for your detention, Mr. Potter."

Harry snorted but stood up. "I don't think you're as brave as you think you are, Professor."

"I beg your pardon?" She sounded almost breathless at the insult.

He had his back to her, but he made sure she heard him. "You said change is brought about the bold, Professor. You are neither bold nor brave." He waved his hand around. "Where dwell the cowards at heart..."

"Detention and fifty points from Slytherin. How dare you?"

"You'll have to wait a week for that."

**xXx**

That night Harry eased his trunk open and removed the cloak. He hadn't used it yet as he hadn't felt a need to sneak about, but it was time he put it to use.

He put his robe and his slippers then tossed his bag across his shoulders before placing the cloak over his head. He stuffed his wand his pocket then eased out the bedroom.

He had to wait a bit for the common room to clear before leaving. When he was clear he made his way through school. It took him about fifteen minutes to get to the library, which was longer than it normally would have. He'd nearly run into Flitwick, came across Mrs. Norris and Filch, and heard McGonagall discussing him with, who Harry assumed, was Dumbledore.

Maybe very nearly calling her a coward had worked. He would store that information for a later date.

He'd walked to the Potions Section with his wand tipped lit. He'd have to figure out later, how he'd got it to dim, but at the moment he was just thankful for the skill.

He walked down the aisle, looking for a book he'd read before. One by Vindictus Viridian. He'd flipped through it at Grimmauld Place and knew exactly what he wanted. Recipes for the Vengeful.

He flipped through it then took his bag off his shoulder so that he could write down the recipe when he'd found it.

When he was through, he placed the book back on the shelf then blew on the ink. When that was dry, Harry stuffed the parchment in his bag then walked over to the Restricted Section.

He was bored.

**xXx**

**The Headmaster**

**20 September 1991**

Dumbledore's office was a large, circular office with stone walls and crimson carpet on his floor. He a plenty of wide, ceiling to floor bookcases, which were brimming with books Harry was certain he'd have trouble understanding.

Portraits of his predecessors began where the bookcases ended. Some were tall, others were wide and short. Each had a frame that matched the color of their original house. Lots of Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

Harry nodded at the familiar portraits of Elizabeth Burke and Phineas Nigellus. Elizabeth waved, but Phineas just rolled his eyes.

Dumbledore sat across from him wearing deep purple robes and staring at Harry with an intense look. Harry felt as if he were being examined.

Though, he didn't pay much attention to the stare for his eyes were on a beautiful, large bird. It was the size of a swan, but it had scarlet plumage, but its tail feathers were a lovely gold.

Dumbledore looked behind. "Fawkes."

"Where d'you find him?"

"An old friend gave me the egg."

Harry frowned. "Scammander?"

Dumbledore smiled, but did not give Harry an answer. Instead, he said, "I hear you have a problem."

"Yeah. Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

He looked Dumbledore in his eyes, but did not retort. Instead he said, "Yeah, him. Can you stop him from insulting my father? And, yes, I know all the history."

"Insulted how?"

"He keeps calling him daft and mediocre."

Dumbledore raised a bushy eyebrow. "Not arrogant?"

Harry paused. So Snape was insulting him in front of Dumbledore, too. In the end, he decided to let it go. He could do that if it meant getting Snape off his back. "Yes, but that doesn't bother me."

Dumbledore laughed a little. "Very well, Harry, I will speak with Professor Snape, but do learn to hold your tongue. Professor Mcgonagall has been incensed over your repeated questioning of Gryffindor and Professor Snape was irate after you questioned his intelligence."

Harry thought to tell him that maybe he should tell the same to his staff, but decided against it. However, by the look on Dumbledore's face, he knew exactly what Harry wished to say.

"You have an expressive face," he mused.

Harry nodded. "I'll work on that."

**xXx**

**Passive Resistance**

**25 October 1991**

Dumbledore spoke with Professor Snape. Harry knew that much.

Snape, however, had, for some reason, decided not to listen. In fact, he went out of his way to insult James Potter for all to hear, though no one was amused.

Except Draco, who had sense enough to realize Harry had mastered more spells than he had, so he kept his laughs to himself.

Harry went to Dumbledore a second time. Dumbledore, in turn, had been a little more forthcoming.

"He's here to keep you safe."

"You could go to Tiberius," Terence suggested one late September afternoon. "He could put you in front of Marchbanks."

But Harry had decided he didn't want to be at Hogwarts anymore. It wasn't fun and he didn't want to have to put his head down or keep going to a deputy-Headmistress and Headmaster who couldn't be bothered to reprimand one of their Professors.

So one afternoon he sent a letter to Beauxbatons requesting an application.

Harry didn't just put up with Snape, though. One afternoon, after taking Cormac's broom for a ride, an irate Snape gave him detention for a possessing a broomstick.

He didn't go, however.

He had come to the realization that Snape didn't listen to Dumbledore because there were no consequence to his actions. He was there to 'keep Harry safe.' He knew Dumbledore wasn't going to fire him. So why wouldn't he do what he wanted?

Harry, however, had spent the past six years being told he was Harry Potter.

So, at long last, he'd truly put that to the test.

If Snape wanted an 'arrogant boy who strutted about the castle as if he owned the place' he'd give him one.

While skipping detention, Harry walked the castle under his cloak. That was until he found a room that, for the most part, did his bidding. The Room of Requirement it called itself.

That's when Harry stopped going to class altogether. After sneaking into the Potions classroom to remove his cauldron and ingredients, he started brewing in the room.

Dumbledore seemed to ignore it at first.

A big mistake.

For the third Friday in a row, Harry went back to the dungeons for his school bag, but instead of going to the Potions classroom, he went back upstairs.

To his surprise, he found Daphne, Pansy, and Theodore waiting for him.

"Where are you going?" Daphne asked.

He pointed at the stairs with his chin and bid them to follow.

Throughout the next week, his friends and a few of their friends in other houses didn't go either causing Snape to practically empty the other houses' hourglasses.

Harry knew the next meeting with Dumbledore was coming.

However, that didn't happen for another week with more students just refusing to go to Potions class. Only potions.

That Friday, Blaise, Tracey, and Lilith Moon, a black-haired girl with silver eyes, joined their group, but as they walked up the steps Harry found Parvati and Ron Weasley, a gangly ginger with a face full of freckles, walking in line with him. Lavender Brown, a pretty, curly-haired blond, had latched arms with Daphne and Neville was walking timidly beside Ron. Seamus Finnegan, a sandy-haired boy with a penchant for setting things on fire, Dean, and Fay Dunbar, a tall, black girl with two puffs, weren't too far behind.

Only Granger, Draco, Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle were in class.

Harry was very amused.

So kid Gryffindors weren't cowards. There was something in that that Harry had pondered before, but he'd never quite hit the bulls-eye on the whole idea. About adults that was. Not Gryffindors.

He had the room conjure several tables that formed a semi-circle. There were also a few bookcases and beanie bags for them to sit on.

"So…" Ron said as Harry stared at them and they stared back. "You teachin'?"

Harry hesitated. He was no ones teacher, but he'd shown Daphne and Pansy how to cut. He could do that again.

When he finished that, he realized they were, indeed, expecting him to teach, so he had them pull out their books and he went over the ingredients of the Antidote to Common Poisons.

"I kinda like to know how a potion works," he said. "It makes it really easy to understand other potions or invent one yourself.'

"You need to know arithmancy, too, don't you?" Blaise said.

Theodore looked at him. "He's been reading about that. Explains a lot."

"Arithmancy?" Dean said. "McGonagall didn't explain that much."

Harry ignored Pansy and Blaise's curled lips as he said, "The study of numbers and their magical properties. It's gone from being divination by numbers to a way to build or break down a spell or potion."

"That seems complicated."

"It is," Ron said. "My brother's a Curse Breaker and he tried to explain once."

Harry turned to him. "You should read a kid's book. It helped me get the big stuff."

Ron's ears turned red. "Are you being funny?"

Harry shook his head. "No, a lot of introductory books were written by people who've been dead for at least a century . The kid's books are more modern, I guess, so they're not so…wordy."

Ron looked a little skeptical that he was being made fun of, so Harry took out Arithmancy for Children. It was a book Emmeline had purchased years ago. He had been far too enamored with brewing potions for most of the last six years. When he'd started breaking down recipes, he'd focused on the astronomy and ingredients. Only recently did he realize he didn't know why he needed a certain number of an ingredient or a stir.

When three and a half hours were up, he was happy to say no one had died. That all potions were at least decent made him happy. Some had liquid that was a darker blue, but the potion could still be drunk.

Harry called one of the Hogwarts elves, Blue he said his name was, to take their cauldrons back to their rooms. They'd washed them in sinks Harry had asked the room for.

"Are we doing this again?" Dean asked. "This was fun."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. I'll probably run into Dumbledore, so none of you should walk with me."

"Good luck," Blaise said. "Glad you're taking the fall for this."

"He started it," Daphne said.

Harry looked at them. "This is the thanks I get."

They all went their separate ways with Harry taking a long stroll by himself. It was a path that led outside. He'd taken a liking to sitting under a tree by the lake. It was also a usual path that portraits had seen him take every Friday afternoon for almost two months.

He reached a set of doors to find Dumbledore staring outside a window.

"Well good afternoon, Headmaster," he said. "I thought I'd find you here."

He raised his eyebrows, but did not turn to Harry. "Here specifically?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I walk this way every Friday and the portraits see me do it. You like to watch from a place where you can observe without being noticed."

"But you notice?"

Harry nodded. "Yes." After a moment of a silence he had hoped for, he shouted, "Constant vigilance!"

Dumbledore, who had jumped slightly, closed his eyes.

Harry bent over and laughed till he cried. He had longed to do that to someone. That it was Albus Dumbledore made it one thousand times more enjoyable. "I'm sorry," he gasped.

"You are not."

Harry bit his lip as he tried to quell his laughter. He wiped his face and managed, "How may I help you, sir?"

"You know exactly how you can help me," was the reply. "This cannot continue."

Harry sighed. "When you say continue do you mean ninety-five percent of students skipping Potions or Snape's continued…cruelty."

"Cruelty, Harry?" Dumbledore said. "Severus insulting your father is crass, but – "

"Insulting a dead man to his son is cruel," Harry said. "I don't care what my father did thirteen or more years ago. He's been dead for ten years, but, as ninety five percent of students are following me, I can't just make this about myself now, can I?"

Dumbledore looked down at him. "Following you? You admit to spearheading this?"

"Of course, we both know I did. The question is how do you plan to punish me?"

"You understand that I am the Headmaster and that you are at a severe disadvantage in your rebellion."

Harry nodded. "Am I?" he mused. "And yes, I know that you are the Headmaster who can reprimand his Potions Master, but won't."

The air got frosty, the moment of merriment long gone.

"And Snape knows you won't," Harry said. "Because for some reason I don't understand, he is here to protect me. So," he said. "I have decided that leaving this school is the best course of action."

"You intend to get expelled?"

Harry tilted his head. "You would expel Harry Potter?"

"Severus often calls you arrogant…"

Harry shrugged. "I don't care enough about Severus to prove him wrong and he's not wrong. I am arrogant. I'm just not mediocre or daft and neither was my father."

"How do you intend to leave this school, Harry?"

"By walking out the front door." He snorted when Dumbledore shot him an unamused look. "There are plenty of schools willing to take Harry Potter."

Harry had barely finished his sentence before, Dumbledore said, "No." It was a hard no that brooked no disagreement.

Harry blinked. Twice. "As I have been told, my parents are dead and my guardians are the muggles you left me with. A few gold coins will convince them to allow me to transfer. I don't…see how you can stop that."

Dumbledore placed a hand on his head and patted his head. "Harry, not only am I your headmaster, but I am also Albus Dumbledore."


	5. Everything at his Disposal

**Everything At His Disposal**

**Halloween Trolls**

**31 October 1991**

Despite that declaration, Harry still couldn't believe his eyes and ears.

Dumbledore, a man who hadn't bothered himself to stop Vernon and Petunia from stuffing him in a boot cupboard or stop Bartemius from parading him around like an exotic animal, moved. Quickly.

One day, near the end of the month, Orion dropped off a muggle envelope. Inside, on muggle lined paper, was:

_**Your Headmaster stopped by. In good conscience we cannot allow you to leave Hogwarts. Enjoy.** _

Then, of course, Bartemius stopped by.

"Why is Albus under the impression you wish to go to Beauxbatons?"

Harry had laughed. It was all he could do to keep from crying.

Dumbledore's last move was to escort Harry to both Potions and detention. Snape's smirk slipped off his face when he and Dumbledore realized they couldn't make Harry work. That, in turn, made things worse as the only people who worked in class were Hermione and Draco.

He'd never hated Dumbledore. Tiberius and Emmeline and Alastor Moody had worked to convince him Albus Dumbledore was a good man who'd made a mistake.

He now knew it hadn't been a mistake.

He and Dumbledore had a different definition of alive. Dumbledore's didn't include anything of happiness. Harry would go as far as to say the definition was limited to 'existing.'

And Harry was at a loss as to what to do about it. He had to, though. He had to find a way to do something about it. Because, short of murdering someone, Dumbledore wasn't going to expel him and he couldn't survive Vernon, Petunia, Bartemius, Snape, and Dumbledore.

Death was far more preferable.

Most times, being Harry Potter sucked.

Harry, who had been contemplating the hell he'd been doomed to, looked up when someone cleared their throat. Professor Flitwick was standing in front of him with an expectant look. "Do you intend to participate? _Tomorrow_ is Friday."

Theodore snickered.

Harry picked up his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa." All the feathers on the table rose into the air. He then flicked his wand so that they would float back down.

"Did you do that on purpose?"

Harry nodded.

"Raise Mr. Malfoy's and Mr. Nott's, please." Harry did as he was told and Professor Flitwick looked at the airborne feathers impressed. "Do you know how you do that?"

He shrugged. "It's all in the detail."

"Excellent. You are on the right track," he said before moving away.

"Does he practice in the room?" Draco asked Theodore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Theodore shake his head. "No, he doesn't do much of anything but sleep."

"How do you do it then?"

"I read."

Draco snorted. "Too bad that can't help you in potions. Not that you show up."

"Yes, it's too bad Snape doesn't like my father."

Draco leaned forward to get a better look at Harry. "What's that supposed to mean, Potter?"

Harry looked at him. "What do you think it means, Malfoy?" He ignored Draco's answer, though. He had better things to do than to listen to Draco think he could be better than him at well anything.

So, after class, Harry made haste to get away from him, but Draco decided to bump into him and Harry couldn't pass up the opportunity to retaliate. So, he looked around, found Flitwick to be busy, then flicked his wand.

Draco stumbled to the floor in a heap causing the classroom to erupt into roaring laughter. Harry smiled, but didn't stick around to see smirk at Draco. He left the classroom and headed for his spot by the tree.

Harry was avoiding the dungeons. He wasn't much in the mood for Snape or the child of any Death Eater. He'd probably ignore the feast, too. He had enough sweets in his bag to keep from starving.

He hated that blasted hat.

So he found himself just sitting under a tree very near the lake with _Seeker Weekly_ in his lap. He was exhausted of schoolwork and books and trying to stay ahead of the curve. Or rather keep up with Dumbledore. Despite his earlier revelation, he still found himself doing that.

"Swot."

He looked up to see Cormac hovering above him. "Bugger off."

"Go get a broom." When Harry shook his head, he asked, "Why the hell not?"

Harry sighed. "Snape."

"You really ought to do something about the bat. We can't just keeping skeeving. There are _no_ house points."

Harry snorted. He laughed a bit every time he passed the front doors. No house could boast that they had more than twenty points these days. "I am trying."

"You're the Minister's boy…"

Harry exhaled. "Barty is _not_ going to help me." He huffed. "You know every bloody thing. You come up with something."

Cormac shrugged then slid off the broom to sit beside him. "Make someone help you. I guess you have to make it so that the right people can't ignore that Snape is a giant fuckin' cunt."

Harry brought his knees to his chest. Most of the school hated Snape and a good bit of Slytherin was included in that. If the children of the wealthy and the well-connected couldn't make their parents band together. How could he?

Yes, he was Harry Potter. He'd heard that before, but he was also eleven and Albus Dumbledore had just flexed his muscles so to speak. He had a limited reach and his confidence was shot.

He looked down at the magazine, which had a top seventeen under seventeen list. He'd longed to top that list, so that people could know his name for something other than Boy Who Lived.

He sat up. It was almost as if a lightbulb had sparked.

"The Daily Prophet," Harry said.

Cormac raised his eyebrows. "You'll send a letter to the Prophet complaining that Snape insulted your dad?"

Harry hesitated then nodded. "Yeah, but it won't sound as… _childish_ as that and…hopefully that won't be the only thing…"

"Oh?"

"I'll need your help," he said. "And Eddie or Terry's, too. And a Puff…Susan maybe. Or Diggory. You know him better than I do…"

After a moment of silence, Cormac elbowed him. "Mind sharing your bright idea?"

Harry looked around then sat on his knees to whisper in Cormac's ear.

**xXx**

Harry, who had been convinced by Cormac to go to the feast, entered the Great Hall with an unaffected look on his face. He was happy Arcturus had taught him occlumency. It had come in handy with Snape and Mcgonagall alike the past month and a half. The latter was still sore over Harry's insult.

Easy Gryffindors.

The Hall was wonderfully decorated. Carved pumpkins lined the tables. The fire of the candles inside matched the house colors of whichever table they were on. Thousands of bats flew across the ceiling making the candles up there flicker

Harry slipped into the seat beside Terence, who, in his ear, whispered, "I heard about your plan."

"Good, you can help."

He nudged Harry. "You can have the position next year."

"I'd rather choke than fly with that ogre."

Terence grinned and slapped his back. "You talk so much shit. I hope you can back…it up."

The pair watched as the ogre himself stomped in. Though he wasn't an ogre at the moment. Marcus Flint stumbled into the Great Hall, three times the size of his normal self. His robes barely fit, but thankfully he'd worn trousers underneath. Harry suspected Heating Charms escaped him.

Flint smelled worse than usual and he had long, silver whiskers coming from his nose, which were covered in boogies, wet and dry.

The entire hall stopped to look at him in disgusted awe.

Flint opened his mouth to speak, but only a series of grunts came out causing the whole hall to break out into laughter, which made Flint get violent. Much to Harry's amusement, Draco was the closest human to him.

For the rest of his life Harry would remember the look of fear on Draco Malfoy's face when Flint took a swipe at the blond. He missed, but Draco screamed and it could only be described as 'like a girl.'

The Professors, who had been watching Flint in stunned silence, moved with haste to rescue Draco.

Swiftly, they subdued the troll and took both him and Draco to the hospital wing. The latter, no doubt, would receive a Calming Draft.

Harry winked as Theodore grinned at him and allowed himself a small smile when Terence whispered, "Well done."

Dinner started soon after. Harry barely participated in conversation, but he listened and laughed occasionally.

"Did you hear about Granger?" he heard Pansy say. "Weasley called her a nightmare and reminded her that she had no friends, so she's hiding out in the loo sobbing."

"That's not nice, Pansy," Jessica Orpington, a curly-haired ginger with pretty green eyes, scolded.

Pansy waved her off. "La! I hate to agree with a Weasley, but she's well a typical…bitch."

Harry hadn't looked at Pansy, but he knew she had just stopped herself from calling Hermione a mudblood. Harry had heard the word often enough. Pollux Black, may he burn in hell, had made certain to say it in his presence.

"Is that right?"

"Yes," Pansy said. "Ugh, you should see the way she looks at Harry and Draco when they do something well. If looks could kill, Harry would have died in Transfiguration the first class."

Harry did his best not to look up, but he jerked up when the Great Hall doors burst open. For a moment, he thought Flint had escaped.

But it was Quirrell.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!"

Harry snorted. "Flint, you reckon?" But Quirrell had fainted on the floor and he doubted it had been Flint.

**xXx**

**Everything At His Disposal**

**15 November 1991**

There had been a real troll in the dungeons. Or rather in the school. It was gone by the time they had arrived. Later they found out it had been on the first floor and in the same bathroom as Hermione Granger.

Harry, despite finding her annoying, hadn't wanted her to get hurt and felt a little bad. However, he was not one of the many people who went to visit. No Slytherin was. None would be caught dead visiting Hermione Granger.

As for the rest of the school, they had been nice and friendly towards her as she recovered. However, that didn't last long because Hermione Granger was Hermione Granger. The only one who stuck by her was Ron.

Harry wondered if that was guilt or genuine kindness.

He didn't care that much, so it was only a fleeting wonder.

The Room of Requirement had become a hang out location. After classes, especially on Friday, those in the know stopped by to study or tutor or just enjoy themselves. It was currently a large room with cream walls and a dark wood floor. The banners of each house hung from the high ceiling and each bean bag chair had the colors and emblem of a house.

There were bookshelves and desks and Fred and George had provided food and drink.

Harry was haggling with them currently.

"You know," he said as they sat in a corner drinking butterbeer, "I have a way to walk around without being seen."

The twins shared a look.

"We know," Fred said.

"But we don't know what it is," George continued.

Fred nodded. "We've tried summoning and countering, but nothing."

Harry stored that information as he smiled at them. "You have something that allows you to walk around without being caught. I've seen it and I'd like to have that."

"You can have anything you want," Fred said.

"At a price, of course."

Harry nodded. "How much?"

Harry ended up giving them each ten galleons. A small price for a priceless artifact; a map. The Marauders' Map it called itself. It showed every inch of Hogwarts and the location of everyone in it.

Now he'd only run into Dumbledore when he was summoned to his office or if he wanted to.

He stuffed the map in his bag as Cho threw herself onto a Ravenclaw beanbag. She handed him another butterbeer. Nice and cold. "Look like you were running low."

"I'm actually out," he said, "so thank you very much."

She smiled. "You're welcome." She shifted. "I've been meaning to ask…how'd this start? The stuff with you and Snape, I mean."

Harry rolled his eyes at the memory. "Flint wanted me to be seeker, but I told him no because I don't want Terence's spot. I actually wanna play Quidditch outside this school so no reason to ruin a friendship. And I can't bring my broom anyway. Flint goes to ask Snape about allowing me a broom. Snape starts asking me questions the next day and when I have no idea what he's on about he calls me and my father daft."

"This started because he insulted your father?" When Harry nodded she said, "Well…I'm on Snape's side. Glad I don't have to fly against you."

He stuck his tongue out. "Scared, Chang?"

"No," she said lightly. "I don't want to hurt a little boy's feelings."

"You're not that much taller than me, little girl."

She smiled. "Still taller." She stretched then asked, "So will you join next year?"

"No."

She frowned. "How are you going to join a professional team then?"

"Camp," he said with a shrug.

Or Ludo Bagman.

He jerked his head up.

Harry had met the old Wasps' beater a number of times. Bagman had seen him fly countless times. Watched him as he dove and spun around like a flying ballerina.

"If you ever want to get a chance at joining an academy send me a note."

Harry had wanted to earn his spot. He didn't want to be given things because he was the Boy Who Lived, but the image of Snape's sour face was too good to pass up.

And he'd be able to get out of the castle for a few hours at least twice a week.

**xXx**

**It's Who You Know**

**20 November 1991**

_**Harry,** _

_**Long time, no see. Nice to here from you, though.** _

_**My old rival, Earl Berkeley, you know him, he's now, funny enough, the Wasps manager. As a favor to me, he's willing to give the Boy Who Lived a chance. He put in a word with a scout, Victoria McKinney. Nine-thirty on the 7th, meet her at the facility.** _

_**Put on a show, Harry. I know you can.** _

_**Good luck,** _

_**Ludovic Bagman** _

_**P.S. Wimbourne Academy** _

He'd put on a show. If only to prove to he was more than the Boy Who Lived. Yes, he'd used the name to get him that far. The talent would take him farther.

But god did he hate the bloody Wasps.

Still, sometimes being Harry Potter was damn good.

**xXx**

**A Show**

**7 December 1991**

The rest of November came and went and with it took Arcturus Black. He'd been sitting in the Great Hall when he'd received a letter with the Black seal on it on the very day December began. In an empty classroom, he opened it:

_**Mr. Harry J. Potter,** _

_**It gives me no pleasure to inform you that my father has died.** _

_**I did not know you and my father were close. It is obvious why he had not disclose such information and I am a little upset he had not. I penned this letter in a show of gratitude, I suppose. It seems you gave my father peace and pleasure his last few years.** _

_**Thank you.** _

_**In a month, because we both know Bartemius will hold it until the first of the new year, you will receive whatever it is my father has left you.** _

_**I have no use for it and brother's children are dead. I hope you make better use of it than any Black has ever.** _

_**I wish you the best of luck, Harry Potter** _

_**Lucretia M. Black** _

Harry had scrunched up his face, but tears had not fallen. It had been many years since they had. So many that he did not think he could do it anymore. His eyes only stung now.

He had long discovered tears changed nothing.

And it wouldn't have changed that.

So life went on with him throwing himself into his schoolwork and extracurricular activities and schoolwork.

One of those extracurricular activities was Quidditch.

On the seventh, Harry took the Floo out of Flitwick's office to The Wimbourne Academy facility.

He stepped out of the fireplace and into an entrance hall with while walls covered in posters of successful academy attendees and sleek, black floors. There was a waiting area with three black chairs and reception desk.

He walked up to the brunette behind it.

"Good morning," he said. "Harry Potter to see Miss Victoria McKinney?"

The woman ogled him for a just a second then she cleared her throat. "Just a few minutes. Please have a seat."

She wrote a note on yellow paper then sent it flying. A minute or so later, a tall, tanned woman with long, curly brown hair and toned arms stepped out from a room. She walked over to shake his hand.

"Morning, Mr. Potter," she said. "Come, let's have a chat."

She led him to her office, which had navy blue walls and a brown wood floor. The upholstery of the chairs was dark gray and soft cotton. Harry took a seat opposite her.

"You have a seeker's build," she said. "Small and thin. You should be long and thin soon."

"Hopefully."

She flashed her teeth in amusement. Then she sat back and crossed her arms. "What's your favorite part of Quidditch?"

"Flying," he answered promptly. "I love to fly."

"You can fly without Quidditch."

He nodded. "I know and I do, but I love seeking, too. Flying is just the best part." He held up his fingers and pinched them together. "Most people can't see the snitch. It's funny 'cause without these glasses, I can't see. I can see the snitch, though. It's fast, but I'm faster and chasing after it is _so_ fun, especially the diving."

"Ludo said diving was your specialty. There's more to seeking than diving."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but most seekers aren't as great as they could be because they're afraid to dive. The ground is nothing to be afraid of."

"Are you not afraid of injury?"

"I want to win."

She nodded with a frown on her lips. She asked him more questions. About fifteen minutes worth. When she seemed to be satisfied, she took him outside to the practice field that currently looked like an obstacle course. There were hoops of different heights at varying intervals. In some of the sections things weather was different. It was raining in some areas and windy others. Harry just knew at least one was blazing hot.

She tossed him a pair of gloves and Nimbus Two Thousand. "At the bang."

Harry mounted the broom and lined up at the beginning of the course. He put on the glasses the took out his wand. Against the glass, he said, "Impervius." A few seconds later, he heard the bang.

He took off. Diving and rising and jerking the handles around sharp turns and twists. Rain water slid down his face, but the charm kept it off his glasses. Wind threatened to snatch his breath then dry heat slapped him in the face.

By the time he reached, he was exhausted. However, he kept flying.

He'd seen the snitch.

He shot after it. Both he and the golden ball dashed across the field. Then it decided to climb and Harry followed, grinning. He'd enjoy this.

The ball climbed to an extraordinary height then both it and the broom handle dipped.

Harry flattened himself on the broom and inched to the end. The ground neared, but Harry didn't pull out.

 _Put on a show_.

Just as he was close to colliding with the grass, he swiped the golden ball out of the air then yanked on the handle. It vibrated, but Harry steadied it as he shot back over to Miss McKinney.

When he came to a halt in front of her, she just nodded.

**xXx**

**Secrets to Tell**

**20 December 1991**

By the last week of term, he could say he had read through _Intermediate Transformation_ , which he had started the previous month,and _Levitating Through History_ , a book on the history of the Levitation Charm. It detailed every spell that came before it and all its imitators.

He wanted to know where his predecessors had gone wrong and he had a very good idea: they hadn't considered the magic of humans. Or rather they had looked at themselves as objects rather than beings with magic.

He found himself comparing and contrasting spells that moved humans and spells that moved objects.

He found the spells all had one thing in common: the magic from the wand behaved like a string that connected the wand to the human or object. As the wand was just a tool, he assumed a wandless version would behave similarly.

That wasn't what he wanted. He needed to be able to raise his wand or wave his hand and lift into air with the ability to fly. No strings attached.

In the end, he grew frustrated and decided to focus on his extracurricular activities and schoolwork.

He had twelve parchments full of names of past and present students; a decades worth of students who'd suffered under Snape. He had many more parchments of stories detailing Snape's actions during that time. The names attached made him smile. It wasn't just the generational Gryffindors who'd signed the petition.

Bones, Abbott, Diggory, Fawley, MacMillan and Jones of Hufflepuff. He had almost lost his breath when he noticed Smith.

' _The Smiths are only good for telling you they're descendants of Helga and running away when danger is nigh_ ,' Tiberius Ogden had once said.

He'd never heard a fond word directed at the Smith family. People dealt with them but only when they had to. So it was shocking to see Zacharias Smith, a boy Harry largely avoided, on the list.

What a nightmare Severus Snape was.

Ogden was on the Ravenclaw list. Boot, Marchbanks, Belby, and Gore were as well.

Warrington, Orpington, and Evermond led the Slytherins. But many more, including Greengrass, Rookwood, Burke, and Nott had followed.

"Thousands of years," Terry said one afternoon in the Room of Requirement. He, Harry, Terence, Cormac, Cedric Diggory, a handsome, brown-haired Hufflpuff with a well sculpted face, and Melissa Marchbanks, a tall, curly haired blonde, stood together. "Thousands of years with Gryffindor and Slytherin hating each other. Ravenclaws have called the Puffs stupid and the Puffs have come up with various ways to call Ravenclaws mad in the same time." He'd lifted a bottle of butterbeer. "To Severus Snape and Harry Potter for uniting the Hogwarts Houses at last."

"I should slap you," Harry had said as the rest of the group laughed.

As for his schoolwork, he was doing well in all of his classes save one and, he could admit, that that was, in part, his fault.

Dumbledore had taken to spending his Friday mornings in the dungeons. Specifically, Snape's classroom.

Oddly enough, Snape was on his best behavior. There were no insults, no Malfoy favoritism, no swooping down on Neville at the most inopportune time.

One could almost call it peaceful.

But Snape glared at Harry for most of the class. Harry, however, ignored him. When he wasn't speaking Snape was easy to forget. That he enjoyed brewing made Snape all the more easier to ignore.

He typically finished before everyone else then spent some time writing notes on the ingredients. As he was at the back of the class, Dumbledore would stand and watch Harry write.

Today he finally spoke. "You brew rather fast."

"I brew at home."

"Emmeline allowed you to brew?"

Harry nodded. "She bought a toy one and Arcturus bought a regular one."

"I beg your pardon?"

Harry looked at Dumbledore and his eyes widened. He'd thought Dumbledore had known. Surely, Bartemius was holding Arcturus' will. Then he shrugged. "The man's dead anyway. Arcturus. Black. Met him at Malfoy Manor."

Disbelief sparked in Dumbledore's eyes and Harry couldn't say he wasn't amused. Apparently Bartemius was not sharing Harry's secrets with Dumbledore. Well that made one person in a world of many who did.

For the first time in years, Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Bartemius Crouch Sr.

He held Harry back after class and the two took a stroll. "I wasn't aware you spent time at Malfoy Manor or with Arcturus Black."

"I've spent a few nights at Malfoy Manor and the – err – Black ancestral home, sir."

Dumbledore walked with his hands folded behind his back. "I take it the Minister is not aware of this?"

Harry shrugged. "I cannot tell you what the Minister knows."

Dumbledore stopped then stared down at Harry.

Harry looked back up at him with a soft smile. He couldn't help it, though, so it blossomed into a grin.

"You find this amusing?"

Harry nodded. "I've been told you're practically…" He snapped his fingers. "What's the word? Omniscient, sir. So that you are out of the loop on something is very amusing." He snorted. "Also explains why I never ran into your Potions Master there."

They stared at each other some more, with Harry's shoulders shaking occasionally as he breathed a number of laughs.

"Arcturus taught you Occlumency, I see. It was the one thing he did for all the Black children."

Harry nodded. "Taurus, too, I was told."

He turned and beckoned Harry. "What did Arcturus want from you?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think he wanted anything from me," was his answer. "We were introduced at Malfoy Manor and we would talk about astronomy in the library."

"So you know of Sirius Black?"

"I am the 'protégé' of Bartemius Crouch Sr, sir, I have known about Sirius, Regulus, and Bellatrix Black since I was five. There are other things I don't know, though."

They stopped beside a set of windows and they looked out onto the grounds which were covered in a thick sheet of snow. Still more of it fell from the gray skies.

Dumbledore looked down at him. "What is it that you wish to know, Harry?"

"Are you going to share?"

"I will answer what I can."

Harry shook his head. "I think 'can' suggests that you don't know the answer, sir."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Very well, Harry, I will answer what I see fit."

Harry snorted. "Anyway, why was the Dark Lord – "

"Voldemort, Harry," he said. "Call him Voldemort." When Harry hesitated, he said, "He is no 'Lord'. To call him such shows that you not only fear him, but respect him, too."

Harry tilted his head. "I shouldn't fear him?"

"If you were a man near my age I would tell you no. We are knocking at Death's door already, so what should you have to fear?"

Harry smiled. It was a genuine, amused one. "Murder, sir."

Dumbledore waved the reply off. "As you are a child who has heard every rumor, true and false, I say that yes, you can fear him and death, if you so choose. However, you should not fear his name and if you do you should still face it. Where Voldemort the name is concerned you need to be brave or bold, but you cannot allow fear to rule you."

"Ever the Gryffindor."

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you. Now, what is it you wish to ask me?"

"Why did…Voldemort want to kill me and my father?"

Dumbledore hummed. "Not your mother?"

Harry nodded. "Bartemius said she was given the choice to live and that's why the curse rebounded. So he was there for me and my father. Or just me?"

"You make interesting leaps in logic, Harry," he said. "I should like to see how you develop that talent." He sighed. "Unfortunately, you have begun with the one thing, above all else, I do not wish to answer."

Harry tilted his head. "Why not?"

"It is a difficult answer no child needs to hear and I implore you to leave it alone."

Harry shrugged. He wouldn't, but he wouldn't ask Dumbledore again. "Why didn't he want to kill my mother?"

"What makes you think I know the answer to that question?"

Harry stared at him for a few moments. "Because you do," he said. "Barty says Sirius Black probably held a torch for her, but I think _he_ would've asked for my father."

"Anything else?" was the reply.

"Why is Snape protecting me?" Harry asked. "Does it have something to do with my mother?"

Dumbledore looked at him. "These questions…I have never heard a more difficult set in my life. What makes you think your mother and Severus are connected?"

"They were friends once." He didn't know how they ended, though. That was something he needed to learn.

Dumbledore exhaled. "How is it that you are aware of that?"

"Petunia told me," he said.

"I did not think she would speak of such things with you."

Harry shrugged. "Petunia will talk for a bit of money."

"You _have_ spent time with Lucius Malfoy."

Harry smirked. "You haven't answered my question, sir."

"And I do not intend to."

"Why?"

Dumbledore sighed. "They are not my secrets to tell."

Harry licked his lips. "I think…you just gave me an answer," he said, "but I'm missing a piece here. I need to find it."

"You needn't find anything, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "Yes, I do. I want all the answers for my self because you won't give them to me. One last thing…is Voldemort dead?"

Dumbledore looked at him for several moments. Harry was surprised and horrified when he heard, "No, I do not believe so."

**xXx**

Later that evening, Harry sat on his bed holding a large envelope. It contained the petition and all the stories, but he was iffy on sending it. Snape was behaving in class.

But that was only because Dumbledore was there. He was still nasty in his other classes.

It would probably alienate Dumbledore, though. Harry knew he disliked the man now. It was hard not to, but Dumbledore was a fountain of information and knowledge. He could try maturity and put his feelings aside, right?

 _Call it payback and be done with it_ , a voice a whispered.

Harry sighed in concession. This needn't have happened he would've been off to Beauxbatons in the spring.

_It would have been selfish and mean to start a fight and leave._

After a few minutes, he sighed. "Kreacher!" he then called.

A small, humanoid creature with pale skin, a meaty, snout-like noise, and bloodshot eyes appeared wearing a dingy toga.

"Master Harry," he bowed.

Harry nodded. So he was the owner of Grimmauld Place. A townhouse in London and a house in Gloucestershire. He was moving up in the world. "I need you to give this to Barnabas Cuffe. Tell him it's from Harry Potter and…take a cabernet from the cabinet with you." He snapped his finger. "One of the Gagneuxs."

Kreacher took the envelope. "As you wish."

"Thank you."

Kreacher popped away with another loud crack.

"I would've sent some whiskey, but the wine is a good touch."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not touching the whiskey until I sort through what I like and I don't like that Gagneux. Too dry."

Theodore snorted and Harry laid back on his bed, hoping he'd done the right thing.

**xXx**

**Pay Back**

**21 December 1991**

Harry entered the Great Hall the next morning feeling more nervous than he'd ever been. It was a good thing he'd planned it for Christmas break.

He sat next to Terence and began making his plate. He had a full day ahead of him, so he wanted to make sure he wasn't hungry when he reached London.

"It should be in this morning's paper."

"Sweet," Terence said. "You know this could ruin all of our holidays. Our parents are going to have a fit. Snape's protected by Lucius and Dumbledore."

Harry patted his arm. "Well I'm about to tick off Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape."

Terence grimaced and gripped his shoulder. "Good luck to you, mate. A true hero and a good man."

The hall was full by the time the papers came. Panic, excitement, and fear coursed through Harry as Terence opened the morning's Daily Prophet. In big, bold letters was:

**SLYTHERIN'S MONSTER: SEVERUS SNAPE**

Underneath the headline was the emblem of Slytherin House.

"Keep this," Harry said tapping the paper. "I wanna frame it." He hadn't realized the hall had gone so silent, so his voice not only carried down the table, but over to the Ravenclaws.

Penelope Clearwater, a fifth year Ravenclaw with long, curly brown hair, giggled then bowed her head when she elicited some looks.

"You think this is funny, Potter?" Draco said. "Can't believe so many of you went along with this. This is…half the house."

Harry looked at him. "I think this is one of the most hilarious things I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing." He grinned at Draco then turned back to Terence. "Flint, Malfoy, and Avery won't like this, so neither will half the house."

"If we have to fuck them up we will, Potter," Terence said.

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind fighting a war on all fronts. I'm no eleven year old boy."

Terence rolled his eyes.

Harry ate as Terence flipped through the paper. They had printed each name of the petition calling for Snape's sacking. There were pages and pages of excerpts from the many stories that had been told.

He had, for several minutes, avoided looking at the High Table. He had looked at Terry and Cormac and Susan and the Weasley twins. Each one had shifted their eyes to the table and back again. He felt the fire of at least two glares on his person, but he refused to meet any of them.

Until he turned his head.

Julia Evermond had come over to shake Harry's hand. "Might as well bury the hatchet since we'll be on the same side soon." She knew there would be a civil war when they returned. Harry had shifted to shake her hand and when she'd moved he was still looking that way, so his eyes found Snape's.

Never had anyone looked at him with such hatred and a lesser human would have been frightened by it. Harry – obnoxious Harry Potter – was only amused. As such a grin bloomed on his face.

In his ear, Terence said, "You are such a little shit."

* * *

**Thanks for reading : )**


	6. Secrets and Lies

**Secrets and Lies**

**A Tale of Two Half-Bloods**

**20 December 1991**

When Harry walked off to the secret lair Albus had yet to find, he doubled back to the Potions classroom.

Severus was sitting behind his desk furiously marking some poor child's work. He hoped it wasn't Miss Granger's. She was a precocious, over enthusiastic child who had been through enough.

Severus glanced up at him and curled his lip. "The Granger girl can't seem to grasp that I have already read the textbook."

Albus hummed. "Have you explained that to her?"

Severus looked at him. "I have written it on every parchment she has given me."

"Have you specifically said, 'do not recite the text'? I imagine that would help." Albus ignored the heat of Severus' glare as he conjured a comfortable armchair to sit in.

"Have _you_ had enough of observing me teach?"

Albus sighed. "Yes, but I cannot leave. Once I do, you nor Harry will behave. If Harry does not behave then neither will ninety five percent of this school." He shook his head. "In all the years I have been here, I have never seen the houses so unified. He has even rallied the Slytherins against you. What an extraordinary child."

"You could, of course, make an example of that extra ordinary child and punish him."

"As you saw, Severus, I cannot make his hands move without magical force and something tells me Harry would be able to fight off most of what I could do to him. A stubborn and determined mind."

Severus slammed the quill down. "You could make his feet move."

"I could make yours move, too," Albus said. "I am inclined to do neither, but I fear I will have to once Harry learns of your darkest secrets."

For once, words escaped Severus Snape. Only for a few moments, however. "The only way he could do that is if you tell him."

"No," Albus said, "that is untrue. Petunia has shared that you were once friends with his mother. As Bartemius told him Lily was given a choice, he has deduced Voldemort was there for the Potter males or just him. He makes such excellent leaps in logic and, as I have said, he is a determined child…"

Severus seemed to pale, but then he curled his lip. "The boy can do nothing to me – "

"That is, again, untrue," Albus responded. "You may not like it, but Harry Potter is a powerful name, made all the more powerful by the company he keeps and the money he has. The Minister for Magic and, I am almost certain, Arcturus Black left Harry Potter his fortune. According to Harry, he has kept company with the Malfoys and Blacks, too."

Severus raised a shoulder. "That does not matter. He and Draco don't seem fond of each other anymore."

"Correct, however, he and Mr. Nott and Miss Greengrass get along just fine," Albus said. "And Tristan Nott does not like you. Despises you, in fact."

"Because I am a half-blood, which Harry Potter also happens to be."

Albus looked at the ceiling. "Harry who?"

Severus did not answer.

"Forgive me, Severus, but you and Harry are not the same type of half-blood." If he were a cruel man he would have listed the many ways in which they weren't. However, he left it at, "You know _Harry's_ blood status does not matter. Harry is a Potter and a Slytherin who has embraced the house and now it will be known he knew Arcturus well enough to garner his fortune over Draco. Hope is still alive."

"The boy is no future Dark Lord."

Albus hummed. "I know that your stubbornness has not blinded you to the way they watch him for direction."

"So?"

"Severus…Harry is very close to putting the pieces together. He is not above dishing out gold or showing respect when it comes to getting what he wants," Albus said. "If he has to charm a Death Eater he will get his answers."

Severus leaned forward. "I am not afraid of Potter."

"You do not fear for your job? And, in turn, your life?"

"You – "

Albus tutted. "The only piece Harry is missing is that you were a Death Eater and someone will mention it. However, when he learns of it he will _not_ attack you."

"So he's not foolish – "

"Correct," Albus said. "He will store hope in the fact that you are when it comes to him and James." Severus twitched at the insult, but Albus ignored it. He was a fool where 'Potter' was concerned and he always had been. "Harry will bait you, Severus, and I implore you to heed this warning and not take it."

**xXx**

**Dinner at the Longbottoms'**

**23 December 1991**

"Enter," Albus said.

Tiberius Ogden, a tall, beefy man with slicked down white hair and a clean face, entered the office in fine robes of red silk that complimented his amber eyes nicely. He walked over to the desk and removed two goblets from Albus' cabinet. He then filled them with his family's own Firewhiskey, which he'd pulled from his cloak.

"I think you need that," he rumbled as he sat down.

Albus grabbed the goblet and sipped. It was cold, but it burned his throat and chest wonderfully. "Thank you."

"You were warned," Tiberius said. Albus glared at the not so subtle hint of amusement. "For years you were warned. And yet you did not move."

"I am surprised to see you alone," Albus commented. He did _not_ want to discuss Harry Potter. "And so late, where are you coming from?"

Tiberius smiled. "Callidora wanted to meet Harry Potter, so she called myself, Griselda, Dianthe, Octavius, and Basilius. We and our children had dinner." He chuckled and looked at Dumbledore with pure amusement on his face. "Would you like to see?"

Albus hesitated then stood to grab his pensieve, a magical object made of stone with runes and various symbols carved on the exterior. Inside was a smoky, silvery substance; his memories. Albus picked up a vial then dipped the tip of his wand into the basin, leaving clear water. The memories connected to the wand like a long, iridescent string and he placed them into the vial. "After you," he said as he stepped back.

Tiberius placed the tip to his forehead then pulled away slowly before placing his own into the basin. "You may take this trip alone. I shall enjoy Brutus' company."

Albus nodded then dipped his head into the basin then fell through. Only to land in a sitting room with pea green walls and a brown wood floor. Portraits had carved, golden frames as did the chairs and sofas, which had mint green upholstery.

Tiberius sat next to Griselda Marchbanks, a short, elderly witch dressed in purple robes. Her white hair was pulled back into a low bun and amethyst studs were in her ears. Beside Griselda was Dianthe MacMillan. She was a round-faced blonde with her habit thrown over her shoulder. The trio spoke in low tones on the sofa.

Harfang Longbottom, a white-haired man with a walrus like mustache and brown eyes, sat in an armchair chatting with a Octavius Gore, a man with long, curly hair that was now pure white. It was pulled back into a ponytail as he sat on the couch in dark gray robes. Basilius Greengrass, a mean-looking man with white hair that framed his face and icy blue eyes, was listening, but not speaking much.

Cormac McLaggen, Daphne Greengrass, Neville Longbottom, Ophelia Ogden, Melissa Marchbanks, Decimus Gore, and Ernie MacMillan stood over in a corner laughing amongst themselves. It was a sight to see.

Maybe it was because they were all young or because their relatives were close that they were all so cordial with each other.

No, this was Harry's doing. Harry and Severus.

Harry Potter himself walked in with a tall, stately woman who had graying, black hair that went down her back. Her eyes were the silver eyes of Ursela Flint that complimented the Black features wonderfully as Callidora Longbottom had that arrogant beauty of the Blacks.

But Albus was focused on Harry Potter, who wore silk cashmere robes of deep green. His hair, while messy, lay flat and the boots on his feet shined.

Harry was introduced to everyone he did not know. Albus had to admit he was amazed. This was not the arrogant, disrespectful child who had swaggered about the castle. No, this was the polite and kind, but slightly cheeky child Emmeline and every Professor save for Minerva and Severus described. The one he'd met in September.

He wondered which was the real Harry Potter.

He followed the group to the dining room soon after. In there the walls were a rich burgundy and the wood was polished mahogany. The dishes were gold and the upholstery was crimson.

Callidora and Harfang sat opposite each other at the heads. Neville was at Harfang's right and Tiberius at his left. Ernie was beside Neville. Griselda, Melissa, Daphne, Basilius, and Dianthe followed Ernie. Ophelia was next to Tiberius. Cormac, Harry, Octavius, and Decimus followed.

Albus nodded at the seating. Harry Potter was at the center. Everyone would hear him speak.

Harry appeared to realize this, too, for he took a few calming breaths.

Albus suddenly remembered Harry was a child.

The group started with a salad that included pomegranates and spinach. Three bottles of Merlot were on the table and Cormac McLaggen was the first to pour himself a goblet full. He did so for Harry as well.

Miss Ogden stared at her cousin, but Cormac was speaking with Harry. After a while, she grabbed the bottle and poured some for herself. "You are no gentleman, Cormac."

"That's not news," Harry said.

"Oh, he's a gentleman to you," Ophelia said.

Harry leaned forward. "Jealous?"

"No, you can have him."

Harry grimaced. "I was hoping you'd take him back."

"I'm sittin' right here."

Harry and Ophelia grinned at each other then looked at Cormac. "So?"

Dianthe cleared her throat. "How is it that you know this pair, Mr. Potter?"

"I occasionally join them on the annual hunting trip."

Tiberius often invited Harry and he went whenever Bartemius wasn't demanding his attention. Tiberius had described Harry as 'sporty' which contrasted greatly with the boy who was never without a book. He supposed that had something to do with his Head of House. Severus had, in a fit of blind rage, given Harry detention for riding a school broom.

For the simple similarity.

"You've known Tiberius for some time, then," Octavius Gore asked. He had a raspy yet soothing voice.

"Yes, sir."

Octavius looked at Tiberius. "I wonder why he did not bring you around."

"Because you did not ask me to."

Octavius looked down at Harry. "I was a good friend of Henry's. We bonded over skirting tradition and joining Slytherin."

Harry knitted his eyebrows.

"Yes, Potter," Basilius said, "he is _that_ old."

Tiberius and Harfang laughed in their goblets.

"You look as old as I do, Basilius."

"Hardly and I don't feel so old either. How are your knees, Octavius?" he cooed.

Albus beard twitched as Octavius curled his lip.

"I thought so, old man." Basilius looked at Harry. "Laugh. He is too slow to hurt you."

Harry twisted his lips, but didn't smile as Octavius stared him down.

Griselda, who had been staring at Harry, said, "Now that you have relaxed, let us get the dragon out of the room."

"Madam?"

"Severus Snape."

Harry nodded. "What would you like to know?"

"Who did you go to with your issues?"

"The deputy-Headmistress and the Headmaster."

Dianthe leaned forward. "And what were you told?"

"Professor McGonagall told me Professor Snape had an issue with my father. The Headmaster told me he would speak with Professor Snape, but he didn't listen."

Albus laughed softly. Not once since maybe September had the boy called Severus 'Professor Snape.'

"I fail to see what your father has to do with Professor Snape's lack of professionalism."

Harry nodded. "I asked her the same, but she just told me to go to detention."

"Detention?" Octavius said.

"Yes, sir, Flint had gone to Professor Snape because he wanted me to join the team. He'd asked if I could bring my broom and Professor Snape thought the idea was mine. When I told him it wasn't, he gave me detention, called me a liar and said my father and I were daft and arrogant."

Cormac nudged him. "Didn't he give you detention for riding my broom once?"

Harry nodded.

"Have you spoken with Albus about this?" Griselda asked.

"Yes, Madam," he said, "but he hasn't given me a reason as to why he won't make Professor Snape listen."

Harfang cleared his own throat. "So all those stories are true?"

"Yes, sir."

"I imagine many are missing," Callidora said.

Harry nodded. "There are. The Ministry workers. I didn't know how some employers would react. There could be at least twenty-five more names on each house list and as many stories."

Albus had wondered why the likes of Nymphadora Tonks and Dirk Cresswell were missing. Both hated Severus and would have jumped at the chance.

"OWL scores have been about equal to Horace's with far fewer students taking the NEWT," Griselda mused.

"I wonder if Horace needs occupation?" Basilius said. "I have not seen him for some time. I hear he still keeps in touch with his best and brightest."

The course changed and so did the conversation. Soon the memory faded and Albus returned to his office to retake his seat.

"I convinced him to come here, you know," Tiberius said. "He wanted to go to Beauxbatons last year. I wonder why he did not try to leave."

Albus looked at him and knew that he knew. "He could not leave. He is my responsibility – "

"You keep saying that, but it appears you don't know what that means." Tiberius crossed his arms. "He tried to leave and you shifted your weight, but did not do the same to your Professor."

Albus sighed. "I will speak with Horace. He will hopefully take over Slytherin and he and Severus will split the load. I will make it so that Harry and Severus aren't in the same room ever again."

"And what of Ophelia and Cormac and every other student who told their story? Do they not matter?" Tiberius grabbed his goblet. "Harry will no doubt be making rounds to rally the parents. Take care that you are not who they rally against."

**xXx**

**Plan B**

**26 December 1991**

Horace Slughorn was a rosy-cheeked man who was far wider than he was tall. He had a large, bald head that shined and lively, gooseberry eyes. His old friend was dressed in his usual black trousers and velvet waistcoat. Today it was dark green with gold buttons.

"Albus, old friend," Horace said as they hugged. "I've been expecting you."

He shot Horace a look. "Whyever would you expect me?"

"I have been a long subscriber to the Daily Prophet. I had not known Severus is what lurked in Salazar's lair."

Horace showed him to he couch, which had velvet green upholstery in a room with brown wood floors and ivory colored walls. Horace placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the coffee table then sat opposite him.

"How may I help you, Albus?"

"Are you bored of retirement?"

Horace chuckled. "At times I have missed the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts and I have grown weary of dinner parties, but not entirely, no."

"Are you weary enough to return to the hustle and bustle?"

"To my understanding, you have a Potions Master and a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, though I am strictly against the latter."

Albus grabbed his cup of tea. "I may not have a Potions Master for long as I'm certain you have guessed." He doubted Severus would make it to June. Rumor had it Harry was to visit the Nott house for an end of year gathering. Albus was, admittedly, concerned. His relationship with Harry wasn't strong enough to overcome anything.

Horace hummed. "I knew Severus would be strict and mean, but some of what I read was outright cruel."

"I would say you and Severus would split the load. Harry Potter would always be in _your_ class and you will be his Head of House – "

"Only his Head of House? Has," he chuckled, "Slytherin dwindled so?"

Albus shook his head. "No, but I know you are aware of his house. He is also fond of potions. It would be his best class under normal circumstances."

"Harry Potter is your selling point, huh? You know me so well."

Albus shifted. "He is an amicable child when he is in the presence of a respectful adult – "

"So Severus once again tussled with a Potter and…is losing? Or has he lost already?"

"No, not yet."

Horace raised his eyebrows. "Yet?"

"I do not expect Severus to survive the year," Albus admitted. "So the load may be yours entirely come next September."

"You wish for me to start come January?"

Albus nodded. "If that is not too much to ask."

"It is the twenty-sixth of December." Horace sighed. "Very well, Albus, but I want a bigger bedroom and office."

Albus inclined his head. "Of course, and your own house elf."

"Thank you."

**xXx**

**Of Old Rivalries and Regrets**

**2 January 1991**

"Albus!"

He turned to see a hassled-looking Bartemius Crouch running – _running_ – towards him. The Minister for Magic came to a halt before him and Albus found he looked like a schoolboy caught in wrongdoing for the first time in decades.

"We have a problem," he announced. "And, for once, it is my fault, though I'm certain this could have been prevented if you did not insist on keeping secrets."

He raised his bushy eyebrows. What was Bartemius about? Then it dawned on him: Harry. "What did you do?"

"Well, _I_ threw him from my office. In hindsight, that was a terrible idea and sums up my parenting skills. However, in the moment, I was hur- _insulted_ that he essentially called me loathsome because I paraded him about like a show animal to revive my career."

"You are," Albus said matter-of-factly.

Bartemius straightened. "Need I remind you of the conditions I found him in?"

"No, but I do not deny being loathsome." His handling of Harry often kept him up at night. "How is this my problem or the fault of my secret-keeping?"

Bartemius shifted. That look of a nervous child preparing to be punished returned. "Ah…it is the events that led up to our disagreement. You see…he visited because Corban – _Yaxley_ – told him of something in the Hall of Prophecy."

Albus closed his eyes. "The Crouch and Yaxley pair strike again."

Bartemius held up a finger. "This was not coordinated."

"Was it ever?" He turned on his heel knowing Bartemius would follow. "I am to assume you heard everything?"

"Yes and what a nightmare that is," Bartemius said. "He handled it well, I suppose. Hates you more than me, so that's something to look up to."

Albus glared at Bartemius. Then he sighed. "Did he mention why he hates me?"

"No, but I think you know why."

"I have an idea, I just he hope is still lacking in information." They were in trouble and, for once, Albus was inclined to move. Ironically he was at a loss as to what to do. "Fizzing Whizzbee," he said and the gargoyle hiding his office leapt to the side.

They had decided to ride the moving staircase, but rushed up them when they heard, "Because _you_ are an ugly, nasty piece of shit just like _your_ father! Protego!"

They burst into the room just in time to see a nasty looking yellow spell rebound towards Severus. A bookcase caught fire as Severus dodged his own spell.

Harry moved his wand and a table became a very large king cobra. Albus raised his own, but Harry hissed, distracting him. The snake struck once; twice before Albus could vanish it. Severus had screamed and was grabbing at his neck.

Albus rushed to Severus as he did so. Harry once again made to slash his wand. At who, Albus could not say, but, at the same time, he and Bartemius made to subdue him. It was only Albus' quick thinking that kept Harry from crashing into his desk. Instead, he landed on the large, soft pillow his desk had become.

He knelt before Severus and placed pressure on the copiously bleeding wounds. With his wand he healed the puncture marks.

The bleeding stopped and the skin knitted together leaving smooth, sallow skin, but Severus, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, fainted.

Albus stood and put out his bookcase then conjured a patronus. The phoenix appeared. "Poppy, I need you in my office. It is urgent." After that he moved Harry to the side then undid the transfiguration to his desk.

Poppy arrived within a minute and only paused for a moment to take in the scene.

While she was doing that, Bartemius raised Harry off the floor then placed him in a chair to revive him.

He woke then blinked only to stare at Albus with such hate that he was reminded of another black-haired boy who was not James Potter. It unnerved and frightened him more than he wished to admit.

Harry looked at Severus. "Is he dead?"

"No," Poppy said.

"Shame," Harry replied with a coldness Albus hadn't thought he possessed. "I'll do better next time."

Poppy looked at Albus, who closed his eyes, then hurried Severus from the room byway of the Floo.

Albus looked at Harry, who was still bound and wandless. "Stay here," he said to Bartemius before following Poppy.

"Is it too much to ask what happened?"

"Severus and Harry were arguing, I suppose. The Minister and I only arrived to hear Harry touch a very sensitive nerve with Severus, who attacked him – "

Poppy looked at him. "Harry Potter was uninjured."

"Yes, Severus has just a learned a lesson: see not what you wish to, but what is in front of you." Despite the situation, Albus was impressed. Harry had an excellent reaction time and transforming the snake into a table had been a good move.

Snake…the boy was a parselmouth and Albus hoped that was due to the Potters' many familial secrets…

"I hope he at last learns it."

Albus nodded. "He will be alright?"

"Just some blood loss," was the answer. "I imagine there will be no lasting consequences. No physical ones that is."

He nodded. "I will return in an hour or so. I hope to be upright when I do." He sighed and, ignoring her concerned look, took the Floo back to his office.

Bartemius was sitting on the couch staring at Harry, who was staring at his hands. Maybe he felt guilty or horrified at almost killing a man.

When Harry looked up, Albus disabused of that notion. There was not a hint of regret or remorse. Just anger. "I suppose he's fired then?"

Albus exhaled. Yes, yes he was. There was nothing he could do for Severus. He had attacked a child and the Minister was here to see it. He needed to come up with a plan so that if Voldemort returned tomorrow, Severus wouldn't be murdered for losing his position. He would, no doubt, need to come up with two. One with Severus and one without.

Just in case.

"Yes, Harry, he is," Albus said. "Now we must decide what must be done with you."

"The wand's on the floor," was the reply. "Yours to snap." Harry smirked and stared him in the eye. The smirk turned into a grin. The longer it took for Albus to move the bigger the grin became.

Oh, how Albus wished to snap his wand just to wipe that insufferable smirk off his lips. Bartemius was sitting there, however, and knew far too much already. So Albus just sat down in defeat.

"Why did you come to this school, Harry? You are supposed to be at home."

"Bar-the Minister told me you wanted me to 'attend you.' So I Flooed here." Harry looked at Phineas' portrait which was empty. "Unfortunately that great bat was sitting their looking as ugly as ever."

He had an idea as to why Harry glared at Phineas' portrait. He, no doubt, had not asked if Albus' office was empty, but if Albus was inside.

Another lesson. Another way for Harry to improve himself.

"Severus had assured me he would not be here. You did not come here looking for a fight."

"I did."

Albus blinked. Twice. "Ah." Harry's fight was with him.

Harry tilted his head. "My grandfather told my father to stay in the house," he said. "My mother was one of the few muggleborns that didn't run. Frank and Alice Longbottom were two of the only people ever in existence to risk their careers by doing the right thing. You were a hero to all four of them."

Oh, no. "Harry - "

"Ten years later, you _let_ one of the men who ruined their lives bully their sons."

Bartemius shot up. "What? Albus, surely he does not mean – "

"I told you," Harry said to Bartemius, "Sirius Black would have asked for my father." That look of intense hatred returned as he glared at Albus. "My father." Harry snorted. "He hates me and Neville because she's dead and we're not."

That hadn't been confirmed as Albus had never dared to ask, but he'd reached the same unfortunate conclusion.

"Harry, Severus…" He'd longed promised Severus to keep his secrets, but Harry, and Bartemius, knew all. He had nothing to lose, but Severus and, to be honest, Severus might already be lost. "Severus regrets his choices."

Harry curled his lip in a fashion Severus would be proud of. He opened his mouth to yell, but ended up gripping the table and saying, "Does he regret trying to get someone's unborn baby killed or does he regret that the baby chosen belonged to Lily Evans?"

Harry, if nothing else, knew the power of a title and name. Severus would never call her Lily Potter.

"Tell me," Harry said, "did you comfort Snape in this seat after my mother died. Did you – did you tell him everything would be okay while the Longbottoms were being tortured out of their minds?"

He wasn't going to answer that. Instead, he said, "Severus came to me when Voldemort made his choice. He begged me to look after…after your mother. Then when she was killed I roped him into teaching and spying."

' _For her.'_

"In exchange for not seeing a day of Azkaban," Bartemius said. "Who would fight Albus Dumbledore?"

"The same people who wouldn't fight Bartemius Crouch _Senior_ ," Albus responded.

Bartemius' cheeks reddened. "Would you like a list of names that are in Azkaban because of me?"

"I could give you a longer list of those you let walk."

"So the both of you failed to do your jobs and most of the best wands on your side are dead or…insane, incapacitated, incapable? Nevermind that Albus Dumbledore is twenty years older."

Bartemius sighed. "You make everything sound so bleak…"

It was bleak. Voldemort had forced him to admit he was past his prime almost eighteen years ago. The twenty-third of June nineteen seventy-four to be exact. It had been a harrowing, horrifying, and humbling moment for him, but he wasn't incapable and, "As much as it pains me to admit, we are in a better position that Bartemius is Minister," Albus said. "He is a wartime leader and is not in a Death Eater's pocket, but this is not the discussion here. Severus…yes, in exchange for no Azkaban."

"Voldemort encouraged him to work here long ago to spy on me," Albus said. "He was to be a true double agent whenever Voldemort returned."

He looked at Harry to see if he understood the implication of what could happen to Severus. He did, but, "So either I'll kill him or Voldemort will." He glared. "I want him dead."

"How long have you known you were a parselmouth?"

"That's not much of your business, is it?"

Albus exhaled. "You told no one else?"

"Of course not," Harry said. "They're already hoping I lead them in their fight against muggles."

"And you don't intend to?"

Harry snorted. "Why would I? The three or four people bothering me all happen to be wizards who won't give me peace. Three half bloods connected to old families, I think, and a Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think any of you are worth the effort to begin with and I'm not dealing with my generation's Malfoy, Smith, and MacMillan. Not after the two of you."

Many of the portraits on the walls coughed or outright laughed.

"You have been through so much," Bartemius cooed.

"Yes," Harry snapped, "my parents are dead, I was abandoned and left with magic hating muggles, and _you_ decided to make use of it all and that's before I met Snape and _him_."

Bartemius looked out the window and Albus bowed his head.

"I want you people to leave me alone," Harry said softly.

"We are the best people in the world to teach you how to survive," was Bartemius' answer.

Harry looked at Bartemius. "Who told you I want to fight Voldemort? I just said you people aren't worth the effort. Nevermind that I'm eleven."

A boy. A little boy looking to enjoy himself.

"Earlier you said you hated me for not checking on you for the right reasons."

"And for six years you've told me that I shouldn't move unless it benefits me. Dying for you people does not benefit me in slightest. I _hate_ you people."

A desperate Bartemius looked at Albus, who said, "Harry, your parents – "

"Are _dead_!" he shouted. "And not once in ten years have you mentioned them to me! I don't care to hear it now!" He panted. "You didn't bother yourself to check on me. You _abandoned_ me, but made sure a Death Eater had a bed and food."

"What of your friends?" Albus asked. He was grasping at straws, but Harry seemed to truly think no one was worth the effort.

Harry, still panting, said, "Most of them are children of Death Eaters. The others have parents who stayed in the house and kept their heads down. All of _them_ have parents who toasted to my name on the thirty-first of October and wondered if I'd be a Dark Lord every other day of the year. _You_ left me with those _muggles_ and none of _your_ friends did anything about it."

He exhaled. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry snorted.

"I have erred at almost every turn with you," he confessed. "I should have visited or sent someone to do more than spy," he said.

Albus had long admitted to himself that he could have – _should_ have – visited Harry, but he had not wanted to. Even after he was reintroduced to magic. Not because he feared what Vernon and Petunia would do, but because he had not wanted to get too close. He had always intended to give Harry the best chance to survive, but he'd never wanted to form a connection.

And now that he wanted to it was far too late.

"I should have spoken with you after you met Bartemius and I should have stopped him from parading you around." He closed his eyes. "You should never have been in the position to be taken advantage of in the first place. And I should have stopped Severus long before you got here."

He exhaled. "At this point I have no expectation of forgiveness and trust, but I do want you to know that I am so very sorry, but Harry…" He opened his eyes to find that Harry now looked more sad than hateful and he wondered if the boy had ever heard an apology in his life.

Doubtful. There were a lot of words and phrases young Harry Potter had, no doubt, never heard that he ought to.

"Bartemius and I may very well leave you alone," he said. "We can grant you peace for the time being, but Voldemort will not. He is too arrogant; his ego will not allow for the world to call you or your mother his defeater. He will never leave you be. One must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives because Voldemort will make it so."

Harry's shoulders seemed to droop and, once again, Albus felt a wave of sadness. "Can I go home now?"

Albus nodded, whatever he'd wanted to say to Harry forgotten. It didn't matter. Severus was gone.

Harry grabbed his wand then tossed the Floor powder in the fireplace and jumped inside. "Twelve Grimmauld Place." In blink he was gone.

"We can't leave him alone," Bartemius said. "He'll need help, but so will we, I suppose. You can duel him to a stalemate. I can put up a minute or two, but I think some combination of the three of us, Amelia, Rufus, Alastor…we just have to make certain we make it to that point." He rubbed his forehead. "But that's not likely, is it? Maybe the boy will make it to be a seasoned man before that happens." He fretted his robe sleeve. "Either way he can't be left to just die."

Albus looked at Bartemius and, not for the first time, did he wonder about him. He had expected him to leave Harry be when he became Minister, but he kept Harry around. Harry was always at a Quidditch game, a horse race, or a dueling tournament. Bartemius had, on some level it seemed, acknowledged what he'd done was wrong and was trying to make up for it.

It was almost as if he cared.

Albus frowned. What had he said earlier? His parenting skills? And Harry had hurt him when he'd said he hated him.

Oh.

"I have an idea to soften him," Albus replied at last. "I will introduce him to an old friend of mine next summer."

Bartemius stood up. "Is this old friend part of your unruly gang of vigilantes?"

"No, he is an old mentor of mine," Albus said laughing slightly at being called 'unruly'. "Fantastic potioneer and transfigurer. Excellent all-around wizard. I think Harry will appreciate it."

He hoped.

**xXx**

When he returned to the infirmary, Severus was sitting up, with most of his color having returned, so Albus swept inside to take the seat at his bedside. "How do you feel, Severus?"

"Fine."

Albus rubbed his temples. "Why did you return to this castle? You assured me you would not be here today."

Severus looked at him. "I came to ask what Darius Greengrass meant by 'Horace Slughorn's return.'"

"I was going to have you and Horace split the load with Horace taking your Friday morning class," he said.

Severus stiffened. "Was?"

"I asked you not to take the bait. I told you what would happen and you refused to listen."

Severus flushed. "He compared me to a – my father – "

"What a pitiful excuse." His voice was cold and Severus flinched. "You have spent months degrading James Potter to his son's face. The moment you are treated the same you react like an angry child." Albus grew agitated. "As if _James Potter_ was in the room. He is _dead_."

Severus flushed. "You know what my father was – "

"Yes," Albus said softly. "And I imagine Harry does as well. It is why he said it." Severus had too much pride to tell Harry James had been a bully, but he didn't know if Harry would have cared. Or rather, Harry would've used that information to his advantage… _clearly._ All roads led to this particular end it seemed.

"And what will happen to Potter?"

Albus looked at him. Surely he did not think… "What do you mean, Severus?"

"He tried to kill me."

And was very nearly successful. "It was self-defense. Or at least that is the way it will be spun by Bartemius."

"So the Minister will protect the Boy Who Lived."

"Severus," Albus started slowly, "are you aware you raised your wand first and that Harry Potter is a child?" He looked at Severus. He and Minerva had, at length, discussed that Severus saw Harry as James Potter, but, "Harry Potter is not your equal. This is not a-a schoolyard disagreement between two teenagers. You are an adult and, regardless of what that eleven year old _said_ to you, you attacked him."

Severus curled his lip. "I know he is a child. You do not have to speak to me as if I am without sense."

"I was uncertain," Albus responded. "What is it that you wish to be done to Harry?"

"I _expect_ him to be punished for almost killing me. Not you because you have shown you can't bother yourself to make a Potter follow the rules."

Albus looked and him. "Severus, do remember that I was your Headmaster while you were in school and that I have turned a blind eye to the verbal abuse of my students for a decade. Please stop complaining about rule-following and rule-breaking to _me_." He rubbed his forehead. "And you expect a Ministry run by Bartemius Crouch to punish Harry Potter? Bartemius 'kill when can and maim when you cannot' Crouch? The Bartemius Crouch who authorized the use of Unforgivable Curses? He, no doubt, encouraged Harry to subdue an attacker in such a manner."

"Why is Horace Slughorn returning to this school?"

"Because this school requires a Potions Master and Slytherin is in need of a Head of House."

A moment of silence passed before Severus said, "This school and Slytherin already have that."

"I am afraid that is untrue."

"You are firing me?" It was a coldly asked question, though he did note a hint of disbelief. He had not thought Severus enjoyed his job remotely. Or was it that he realized a Potter was being chosen over him again?

Albus tilted his head. "Yes?"

As he looked at the man in the hospital bed, he wondered if Severus had always been so delusional. Severus was, if Albus was honest with himself, a hypocrite of the highest order. Or maybe he was just so full of self-pity that he saw himself in a light that deferred from the one everyone else saw him in.

Severus was different from himself, Tom Riddle, and Harry. He, Tom, and Harry were – there was no other word for it – popular. Within their first month. Harry had the benefit of fame, of course, and there had been rumors about Albus and his family, but they were squashed by the second week of school.

He was that good.

Severus was different. He had no charm; no cheeky wit; no adorableness. His wit had always been cutting and acerbic; cruel. He had always been dour. Harry while asocial and brooding wasn't impolite. Severus' countenance had never lent itself to charm. He could never use his misfortune to his advantage in the way orphans Harry and Tom could. He was a prodigy in a subject that was not one for show.

In short, he was a Slytherin because he was ambitious. Not because he was cunning.

And he had always been a follower.

A poor half-blood with a muggle name in Slytherin surrounded by the wealthy and the generational; a young man who sought power, but did not have the means to obtain it.

It was not a wonder he was full of self pity.

However, he had rarely followed a rule and it had been even rarer for him to held accountable for his mistakes and crimes.

Between himself, Evan Rosier, and Lucius Malfoy, Severus had always been able to skate. Even Lily had made excuses until the end of their fifth year.

And where Harry could see the parallels between himself and the likes of Draco Malfoy, his father, and Tom Riddle; where Dumbledore understood he was not altogether different from Bartemius Crouch, Lucius Malfoy, and, at times, Gellert and Tom, Severus could not see the parallels between himself and the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black.

All three had been terrible bullies, kind to those they only thought deserved it and cruel to those they considered unworthy. Arrogant and self-righteous and brash. James and Sirius just had the benefit of wealth and wit and beauty.

 _Severus_ had been able to strut about this castle as if he owned it, secure in the knowledge that, short of murder or attacking a student, he would not be fired because Albus' plans relied on him heavily; because Albus did not want him dead.

He _would_ have to change those plans. Alter them so that they didn't include Severus; so that they included someone Harry trusted implicitly just in case he could never earn the child's favor. He needed Harry above all else. No one was as essential as Harry Potter was.

"You cannot fire me, Albus. The Dark Lord will _kill_ me."

Albus turned his back and closed his eyes. "We will have to come up with a new plan, Severus, because you cannot stay here. Bartemius and Harry will not allow it."

"You are Albus Dumbledore – "

"And I will not be throwing out my neck after you attacked a child, Severus. That that child is also Harry Potter…" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Severus, but you must be gone before term starts."


	7. The Boy Who Lived: A Puzzle

**The Boy Who Lived: A Puzzle**

**The Missing Piece**

**31 December 1991**

Harry was decidedly out of his element. Though, not because he was a kid, but because he was in a room full of former Death Eaters and sympathizers and all their children.

He wasn't just nervous. He was terrified.

Which was why, for the first time ever, he'd told several someones where he was going.

If he ended up dead or missing they'd know where to start.

He'd tried to stick to Theodore, but Mr. Nott, a bony, brown-haired man with a rough face, had pulled Theodore away.

And now some tall man wearing flowy, silver robes with long, pale blond hair that fell to his waist in a braid, was staring at Harry. _He_ had a blunt face with sharp-looking cheekbones and a pointed chin. His eyes were blue and appeared to be hard and cold.

He watched as the man picked up two goblets then made his way over.

"Hello," Harry said when the man sat down.

Said man said, "Good evening, Potter." He held out his hand. "Corban Yaxley."

Ah, an _accused_ Death Eater. Fantastic.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Is it?"

Harry raised his eyebrows as Mr. Yaxley handed him a goblet. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"My cousin and old friend has never spoken of me?"

"Bartemius has said your name a few times before, though I didn't know you'd been close." Harry jerked his head. "I should've guessed, though, since Arcturus said he'd been close to Mrs. Longbottom, Orion, and Alfred once."

Mr. Yaxley crossed his arms. "And what was said?"

"That you were a Death Eater." Harry cleared his throat. He had not meant to say it like that. "Accused and had been under the Imperius Curse. Forgive me, sir."

Mr. Yaxley looked amused. "And what do you believe, Potter?"

"Believe sir?" Harry said. "Should I not believe that you were under the Imperius Curse?" He tilted his head. "If you had been a Death Eater – hypothetically speaking – why would V-V-the Dark Lord visit my home?"

Mr. Yaxley smiled. It was bright and softened his face by a lot. "Albus Dumbledore is keeping secrets again."

"He does that. It's his specialty."

"Indeed. Why should I tell you that, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Because you are a good man."

Mr. Yaxley threw his head back and laughed. "Not exactly." He leaned forward to touch the charm bracelet on Harry's arm. It was silver with snakes, gryphons, and ravens. "A parting gift from Arcturus. What else did he give you?"

"His townhouse and money."

Mr. Yaxley hummed. He then looked around the room before crooking his finger. A girl across the room, dressed in pale blue, seemed to sigh. He wasn't offended as he'd stamped down his own. He would one day be a young man in possession of a sizeable fortune and in need of a wife and most in the room hoped to influence him now.

As she neared Harry noted that she was tall with long, hair that was pale blonde like Mr. Yaxley's. While her chin was pointed and her cheekbones sharp, he found her diamond-shaped face to be pretty. She had a slender nose and full, pink lips with a beauty mark just above the left corner.

"Daddy," she said.

"Potter, this is my daughter, Erato," he said. "Daughter, this is Harry Potter."

She smiled politely at Harry. "Hello, Potter."

Harry waved. "Hello."

Mr. Yaxley tilted his head towards his daughter. "What do you think of her, Potter?"

Harry blinked then felt his face warm when he realized what Mr. Yaxley was asking and that he'd have to give an answer. "I think she's pretty."

Erato's cheeks colored.

"Is that all you think of my daughter? Pretty? Isn't she beautiful?"

Erato rolled her eyes. "You don't have to answer that. _Please_ don't answer that."

Mr. Yaxley said, "If you want the answers – "

"I think she's very beautiful, sir."

"Harry Potter thinks you're beautiful, dear." He pointed at the chair next to Harry and looked at his daughter. "Sit and enjoy yourself." He turned to Harry. "If she enjoys herself I will answer one question."

"Three."

"Two."

Harry nodded. "Fine." When he was gone Harry turned to Erato. "Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?"

She raised her chin. "Durmstrang?"

"And how do you like it?"

She shrugged. "I like it well enough, especially the dueling stuff, though I do hate the bloody cold."

"Dueling?" he asked.

Durmstrang Institute was a school that created excellent duelists. Harry had heard a little about it once when Mr. Malfoy had contemplated sending Draco. According to Erato, an hour and a half was spent every week in a dueling room, utilizing all the spells they'd learned that week.

"Huh," Harry said. "I'll try that." He couldn't conjure things yet, but he was very good with transformation.

"Glad I could help." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "What questions do you have for my father?"

Harry leaned back in his seat. "Just a few questions about some things Dumbledore won't clear up. The Dark Lord, Snape, my mother – "

"Daddy doesn't like him. It's why I'm not at Hogwarts. Says he's a traitor sniveling behind Dumbledore's skirts."

Harry blinked. He'd thought she'd been talking about _Dumbledore_. "You're talking about Snape? Why's he a traitor?"

She hesitated. "Daddy – well – you know the rumors about my father? Well those same rumors are said of Snape – "

"No, they're not. I would've heard it." Something was buzzing around in his head.

She shook her head. "Well, I guess because Dumbledore said Snape was his spy."

"Snape was a Death Eater?"

"Oh, daughter, I see you have answered one of the questions," Harry heard. He looked up to see Mr. Yaxley's very amused face. "You may not be a Dark Lord, but damn it you will hate Albus Dumbledore and that is all I can ask for."

Harry inhaled to steady his mind. The buzzing was very loud in his ear and he didn't know why.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes," Erato said.

Mr. Yaxley nodded. "Very well, you may go back to your friends. Potter and I need to have a discussion." When she was gone he took her seat. "You asked why the Dark Lord would come to your home…"

Harry nodded.

"If I were to guess, I would say, it was because he was told something about you. A follower of his would have mentioned overhearing something. Say a prophecy."

Harry looked at him. "A prophecy?"

"Yes, a very vague prophecy that spoke of an unborn child possessing the power to defeat him."

Harry stared at him until he realized the man was being honest. "And…if you were to guess, where would I find a prophecy?"

"I wouldn't know, boy, it is a _mystery_ to me."

Harry blinked at him then nodded in understanding. Knowing he'd asked his two questions, he said, "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Mr. Yaxley drawled. He stood. "I've done what I came to do. I can go back to annoying Macnair." He held out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Potter. I do hope you are successful in your endeavors against Severus Snape. You 0we him _so_ much."

Harry shook it. "It was nice to meet you, too, sir, and thank you."

Erato returned as her father was leaving. This time she'd brought two friends. The girl had long, dark brown hair and familiar looking blue eyes with heavy lids. The boy had the same heavy lidded blue eyes, but his hair was ash blond.

He looked like Druella.

Harry pointed at them. "Enyo and Ethan Rosier."

The boy held out his hand and Harry shook it. "Nice to meet you, Potter," he said. Harry noted a thick, French accent.

The trio sat down and Harry started by picking their brains on the dueling part of their education. For that moment, he forgot about Snape and Death Eaters and prophecies.

**xXx**

He remembered when he got back to Grimmauld Place, though. Choosing not too stay the night at Redwood, he took the Floo home. He locked the fireplace behind him then dashed to his bedroom where he the threw his good silk onto the floor. The robes and boots were replaced by a nightgown and slippers.

Harry summoned a bottle of butterbeer then started pacing.

Snape had been a Death Eater. No one had mentioned that. Ever. Not Bartemius. Not Emmeline. Not Alastor Moody.

At length they'd discussed Sirius Black, but very little of Severus Snape.

This had something to do with Dumbledore.

It always did.

Harry rubbed his forehead. Both his parents had been friends with Death Eaters. Terrible judges of characters.

Why had his mother and Snape stopped speaking? He'd wondered, but never asked. Not knowing much of who Snape was, Harry had never questioned how their friendship had ended. Had she noticed in Severus Snape what they all had failed to notice in Sirius Black?

No, Emmeline said Snape had been cunning enough to do it behind her back.

Harry thought back to his conversation with Dumbledore just a week prior. What had Dumbledore said?

' _Not my secrets to tell.'_

Harry had asked why Snape was protecting him. Why Voldemort had wanted to give his mother, a penniless muggleborn, a chance to live and not the wealthy pureblood he'd discarded? Why Voldemort had come to his home in the first place.

A prophecy.

He had the power, some power to destroy Voldemort. Voldemort had come to his house to end the threat, but had failed.

Because he gave Lily Potter a chance to live. A chance she did not take.

Why?

Harry stopped and stared out the window. The moon was in it's last quarter and the skies were black but clear. Snow had dusted the ground earlier, but it had stopped and most of it had disappeared.

Who among the Death Eater's would have wanted Lily Potter to live?

Sirius Black or Severus Snape?

Harry's breathing slowed.

What could Snape have given Voldemort to make such a request?

Sirius Black had given him the secret.

What could poor, ugly Snape give Voldemort?

Harry started pacing again.

Snape was a potions prodigy, but was that enough? Harry doubted it. There's was nothing short of the Elixir of Life that Snape could brew to make that request. As Voldemort was dead for a little while, Harry didn't think that had happened.

Harry closed his eyes and considered all he knew of Snape.

He was a good friend of the Malfoys and Averys. Evan's children did not know him as their mother believed he put the 'filthy' in half-blood. So did most Death Eaters. It was Snape's appearance and superiority that made people dislike him.

"He doesn't know his place," Tristan Nott had said.

They viewed Snape as a social climber with too little grace and fortune and far too much arrogance. He did not pander to anyone save Malfoy and Avery. They hated that.

Snape had nothing and was no one. He was considered a Malfoy lackey in Slytherin House. How could Snape make that request? Because it _had_ to be him. Harry had been in Sirius Black's room. He'd stuck a picture of himself and his friends on the wall. There were letters from the Potters in his nightstand.

Sirius Black would've asked for James Potter.

Harry thought back to his conversation with the Yaxleys.

Erato had said her father considered Snape a traitor because he'd been Dumbledore's spy. Mr. Yaxley had wished Harry well 'in his endeavors against Snape.'

' _You owe him_ _ **so**_ _much.'_

Snape hadn't done much but insult his father, right? They'd hated each other because…Snape had been into the Dark Arts and was good friends with Lily Evans. That's what Emmeline had said at least.

' _Only because she was attracted to him.'_

His mother had been friends with Snape, who hated James Potter, who fancied Lily Evans, who was attracted to James Potter in turn.

What had Emmeline said? The attraction had been obvious.

Harry didn't know if he disliked anyone as much as James Potter and Severus Snape disliked each other. Maybe Dudley and Draco. They came close.

Would he be bothered if…Daphne started sucking Draco's face?

Harry ran a hand through his hair. In the end, he decided to be honest with himself as much as an eleven year old could be.

Yes, he'd be bothered he decided, but not because he hated Draco, but because he thought Daphne was pretty. He'd hate it if it was Neville or Theodore or Parvati or anyone really.

So he fancied Daphne Greengrass? That didn't matter right now.

Daphne was his friend. A good friend so far.

By the way Emmeline spoke, Snape and his mother had been good friends, too. From the way Dumbledore spoke, good enough for Petunia to know of Severus Snape.

Lily Evans and Severus Snape had been close friends. What did Emmeline call it? A friendship they'd had to answer to for years. A muggleborn Gryffindor had stayed friends with a Slytherin who'd also been friends with Avery, Malfoy, and Rosier.

Harry would call that 'best friends.'

He walked over to his desk then ripped off a bit of parchment. On it he laid out all that he knew. He was going in circles.

Voldemort had visited his house because a Death Eater told him of a prophecy that said unborn Harry had the power to defeat him. He entered the house because Sirius Black had given away the secret. He killed James Potter then Lily Evans then attempted to kill him.

Harry scrunched up his face.

Who had been the Death Eater?

It was as if a light bulb flickered on.

' _You owe him_ _ **so**_ _much."_

Harry gripped the desk so hard it hurt.

**xXx**

**Know Your Enemy**

**1 January 1992**

The next morning, Harry walked into the kitchen of Four Privet Drive and placed two fifty pound notes on the table. He kept money on hand whenever he needed something from Vernon and Petunia. Today it was Petunia. "We need to talk."

Petunia, who'd been cleaning the kitchen, snatched the money off the table. "About?"

"Severus Snape."

Petunia's face twisted. "He was the one who told her she was witch." She sprayed the kitchen counter. "She was nine and had…floated off the swing then made a flower fly. He'd been spying on us from behind the bushes. He leapt out and told her."

They knew each other before Hogwarts. Best friends indeed.

"What was Snape like?"

"A nasty boy," Petunia said. "He said 'you're just a muggle' once as if that made me not matter."

A villain's origin story. Harry stamped down a sigh. "Where'd he come from?"

"He didn't live too far from us. We were in the midlands. You could see the smoke from the factories, but _we_ weren't bothered by it. Daddy made good money as a manager and Mummy was a teacher so we always had nice clothes and food." She pursed her lips. "Snape, you could tell he was poor. His clothes were too large and dingy and Mummy always gave him a sandwich. Snape didn't like Daddy, though, 'cause Daddy didn't want him in the house. Snape didn't like people who weren't wizards."

Harry tilted his head. "Was his father a factory worker?"

"Once upon a time maybe," Petunia said as she moved to put the dishes in the washer. "But Tobias Snape was an alcoholic who didn't like magic according to Snape. They lived off what little his mother had brought from her family."

Harry nodded. That couldn't have been much. He didn't understand women like Eileen Prince, Cedrella Black, and Molly Prewett. How could they not at least steal some coins? According to Arcturus, Andromeda had collected a good sum before running off and Ted Tonks had been making good money as a healer.

"Snape would come over here when they argued."

Harry stood to go pour himself some juice out the fridge. He ignored Petunia's look as he asked, "Why'd they stop speaking?"

"He called her a name. Some mudborn – "

"Mudblood." He leaned against the fridge. "Would you say Snape fancied my mother?"

Petunia laughed her cruel. "Yes, obvious to all, even your mother. But Snape isn't someone you consider dating. He is ugly and poor and mean. Or at least he was."

"Still is."

She looked at him. "How would you know?"

"He's my Head of House."

"You are not a lion?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm a snake." He grabbed himself a fizzy drink then said his goodbyes before heading back to Grimmauld Place.

**xXx**

**When It Rains It Pours**

**2 January 1992**

"Where have you been?" Bartemius asked as Harry threw himself into one of the black chairs opposite him.

This office had gray walls and brown wood floors. It was as bare as the last one, though, with the singular picture of his wife on his desk.

Harry waved his hand around. "Business needed taking care of and I've had people to meet and greet."

"And none of them being the Minister for Magic."

"I already know you, sir."

Bartemius puckered his lips and Harry smiled. It fell when Bartemius said, "Albus has been looking for you. He wishes for you to attend him."

" _Albus_ can go to – ugh!" Bartemius had filled his mouth with soap. "Disgusting."

"So were those words about to fall from your lips. What has Albus done to you now?"

Harry huffed. "Ruined my life. I can't turn without learning of something else Dumbledore has done to me." He rubbed his forehead. "Speaking of which…I need a favor."

"You do not speak to me for days, barely write letters, and throw Hogwarts into disarray only to enter my office demanding things of me?"

Harry raised a finger. "I did not throw Hogwarts into disarray. It was already in disarray. I just cut open the boil to let the gross stuff come out." He raised another. "I demanded nothing."

"You have not asked either."

Harry looked at ceiling. "Minister, I need something from the Department of Mysteries. A prophecy to be exact. Can you help me?"

"You cannot touch a prophecy that does not belong to you."

Harry looked at him. "It belongs to me."

"Oh? How would you know?"

"Corban Yaxley."

Bartemius crossed his arms. "Whyever would you believe Corban? I have told you of him – "

"He has no reason to lie," was the answer. "He hates you, Dumbledore, and Snape. Telling me the truth is more horrifying."

"What has been said of me?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I needed some questions answered about Snape." He tilted his head. "Why didn't you tell me he was a Death Eater?"

"He wasn't. Albus vouched for him."

"Yeah? And Lucius was under the Imperius Curse, right?"

Bartemius raised a shoulder. "That cannot be disproven."

"'Dumbledore does not behave like a man who believes the Dark Lord dead.' The only way to end the Imperius is to beat it or for the caster to die. If Voldemort isn't dead…"

"Why did Arcturus Black leave you his home."

Harry sighed. It was like pulling teeth. Bartemius and Dumbledore were going to drive him mad. "Because I've stayed at his house a lot over the years."

"I did not see it on the logs."

"I know, Minister, I'd take the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron then the train to Islington."

Bartemius stared. "You could have died, you foolish boy."

"Probably," Harry acknowledged, "but I'm still here. Suffering. Now, the Department of Mysteries...I will tell you everything I've learned of Death Eaters these past few days if you take me down there." He sighed. "I'll even share the prophecy with you."

It took incessant whining and begging, but eventually Bartemius took him down there.

"There better be a prophecy. Or you will pay for disturbing my peace."

Harry nearly forgot the prophecy when they arrived to the Department of Mysteries. It was a truly a department of mysteries. Full of doors and interesting looking objects in dark, cold rooms.

"I know what is down here, Richard," Bartemius said when the head of the department, Richard Abbott, a lanky man with a bald head and white beard, showed them the Death Chamber, a large dimly lit room with a twenty feet deep pit in its center. The rectangular room was full of stone benches that became steep steps that led to a raised dais in the center of the pit.

But Harry didn't care about the pit. No, his attention was on a crumbling archway that went unsupported by wall. It just stood there with a tattered black curtain hiding its contents.

"Forgive me, sir," Mr. Abbott said as Harry wandered off. "I'll take you to the Hall of Prophecy now."

Harry stood before the curtain then raised his hand, but someone called his name. He realized he could hear voices coming from behind the curtain. They were speaking words of encouragement and adoration.

' _We love you, Harry_.'

' _Proud of you no matter what, son.'_

There were different voices and more words, but he put his hand down when he heard things like 'Step away' and 'not your time yet.'

"May I ask why you dropped your hand?"

Harry looked up to see a wispy, old man with a head full of silver hair and a matching, pointed beard. His face was a bit tanned and had a number of wrinkles and age spots. He wore dark green robes with a name tag that said "CROAKER".

"Because Arcturus Black said it wasn't my time yet and someone else told me to step away."

"Have you identified what is behind this curtain?"

Harry nodded. "Death."

"Indeed. This is the Veil of Death; the thin line that separates the living and the dead."

"They can't come back, but we can join them."

Croaker inclined his head. "Correct and we study why that is."

"Because…the soul leaves the body when we die and we can't put it back in?"

Croaker nodded. "That is the most common explanation. We want to find others."

"If I wanted to help do that, how would I?"

"Are you offering yourself up for research, young Potter? You are a fascinating miracle."

Harry snorted. "Thank you, but no, I'll have to pass."

"We require seven NEWTs of Exceeds Expectations or higher, but that is not all. We look at each individual to see what they have accomplished," he said. "It is not enough to study books. One must show excellent research, analytical, and creative abilities."

Harry nodded. "I'll see you in six and a half years then."

Croaker laughed. "Very well, young Potter, but in the meantime I believe the Minister is waiting for you."

Harry looked over to see Bartemius looking at them. He looked at Croaker. "Nice to meet you, sir." With that, he jogged over to the Minister.

"What were you doing?" he asked as they walked through a door.

"I almost touched the Veil of Death, but it's okay. Arcturus stopped me."

Bartemius touched his forehead. "I beg your pardon?"

"The voices spoke to me – "

"Please. Stop."

Harry tilted his head upwards. "That's the first time I've ever heard you say please."

He didn't hear the response, though, for he noticed the room they'd entered at last. It was a vast, cold room with few candles that burned blue and the ceiling was as high as a cathedral's. There were shelves upon shelves of containing white, dusty orbs. Each orb had its own dusty, yellow label.

Bartemius led Harry down to row ninety-seven. Not to far from the end Harry spotted a prophecy labeled:

**S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D**

**Dark Lord and** (?) Harry Potter

"Oh, hell," Bartemius said. "That man has more secrets than this department. It would have been nice for him to tell me of this because you are probably about to learn something he does not want you to know."

Harry shrugged. "He doesn't." He then stood on his toes and took the orb down. "Guess that settles it then?" He looked at Mr. Abbott. "What happens if I touch one that's not mine?"

"It will attempt to drive you mad."

"Ah."

Ten minutes later, Harry placed the prophecy on the floor and opened it.

A familiar looking woman and one Harry could only describe as a bedazzled insect rose from the orb.

' _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…'_

Harry bent over and placed his hands on his knees. "What does that mean?"

"That if that devil ever manages to return you will be at the epicenter."

"Either must _die_ at the hand of the other. What. Does. That. Mean?"

In the kindest tone Harry had ever Bartemius speak in, he said, "I think you know what that means."

Harry exhaled. He took slow and steady breaths, but tranquility was escaping him. Somehow he ended up on his knees.

"Harry – "

"I hate you people."

There was a pause before, " _I_ didn't do this to you."

"No, but you took advantage of it. Parading me around like a new pet."

Again there was a pause. "I also gave you clothes and ensured you had a bed and food to eat. You are also allowed more liberties than anyone else in this world."

"Last time I checked you and Dumbledore were still alive," Harry retorted as he knelt on the floor. "And that is a terrible trade off."

"Would you prefer to still be stuck in your cupboard?"

Harry's head shot up just as the flames in the fireplace grew as if gasoline had been poured on them. "I'd have preferred the Head of the Department of Magical Enforcement to check on me because it was the right thing. Not because he wanted to revive his dead career."

Bartemius put out the fire that had begun to lick the floor. "It seems you have a few things to get off your chest. Say it."

"I think I already said it," Harry said, "but I'll be happy to repeat myself: I _hate_ you and I fully understand why your son became a Death Eater. You are miserable and mean and – "

Bartemius stood up and slammed his hands on his desk. "Get out!"

"My pleasure."

Two minutes later, Harry stood in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. It had green walls and dark wood floors and the upholstery was dark green. The fireplace was opposite the door and flanked by two glass-fronted cabinets that were full of nasty looking objects Harry hadn't touched yet. Opposite the windows, which overlooked the muggle street, was the Black family tapestry that dated back to the seventh century and Aries the Black-Hearted.

"Phineas!"

"What?" the portrait said. "You are so rude and loud."

"Is Dumbledore in his office?"

Phineas got up and walked to his other portrait. A minute later, he returned. "No, _he_ is not."

If Harry hadn't been so irate, he would've noted the emphasis on _he_ , but, at that moment, did not. "I'll wait for him then."

Five minutes later, Harry stepped out of the fire in Dumbledore's office to find Snape pacing.

He'd burn that blasted portrait and dance as it screamed.

Harry, who had no intention of leaving, eyed Snape, who had noticed him just as soon as he'd stepped out the fireplace.

Maybe he could throw some stones and kill the bird at last.

"You are not supposed to be here," Snape spat.

"And I was hoping you'd be gone, but it seems my Christmas wish list will be incomplete this year," Harry said as he swaggered into the room. Shame he didn't know his father's mannerisms. "First time in a long time I didn't get everything I wanted." He threw himself into a seat and kicked up his feet.

Snape curled his lip. "And you won't be."

"I'm not so sure about that," Harry said. "You look nervous, Snape."

"Professor, you disrespectful little swine."

Harry tilted his head. "Snape, no one in their right mind respects you." He snorted. "I had dinner with some Slytherin alumni last night. You came up in-between them trying to find me a good, pureblood wife. Would you like to hear what cousin Tristan, Aunt Dru, and Mrs. Isidora Rosier had to say about you?"

Snape just stared at him. His color was heightening and his breathing was shallow.

"I'll tell you about some swine," Harry said. "If they were honest about anything all night it was about how you put the filthy in half-blood. Even my muggle grandfather thought you were a filthy little shit." Harry smiled. "But he loved James Potter, though. Almost as much as Lily Evans did."

That did it. So easy.

Snape swelled as if he were being pumped water. "Your father was an arrogant bastard who had everything handed to him and still wanted what belonged to everyone else."

"What did you have that my father could have wanted, Snape? My mother didn't belong to you and she didn't want you," he spat as he stuffed his hand in his robe. " _No one_ wants you, Snape, because _you_ are an ugly, nasty piece of shit just like _your_ father! Protego!"

Snape slashed his wand through the air, but Harry was ready for him. The yellow curse rebounded and Snape, surprised, dodged his own spell. Harry, remembering his discussion he had two nights ago used the opportunity to transform the table into a snake.

"Transvertus," he said as the door burst open. Harry had no idea as to who it was and didn't care as he hissed, " _Bite_."

Snape screamed.

Harry turned to see Dumbledore and raised his wand again, but before he could do anything he was lifted off his feet and knew no more.

**xXx**

Hours later, Harry Potter could be found inside the graveyard of Godric's Hollow standing before his parents' graves. He wasn't speaking or doing anything but standing there staring down at the graves of the last family he'd known.

The only family he'd known.

Emmeline had been alright, he supposed, but today had opened up old wounds that had never healed. Or maybe they had, but whenever it rained or was cold they ached.

The past twenty-four hours could only be described as a throbbing, unrelenting pain.

He heard crunching snow but didn't move. Hopefully it was someone to do Voldemort's job for him.

No, Dumbledore, who always smelled of allspice and lavender, placed a cloak around his shoulders. Then orchids appeared where his mother lay and bluebells where his father was.

"Your mother's favorite flower was the orchid. She favored the ones with the pinkish tinge. Your father use to say his favorite flowers were tiger lilies, but that's not true," Dumbledore said. "It was the bluebell. He planted some in the garden and always watered them. They reminded him of home and if you ever journey to Dawn Park you will find a field of bluebells amongst the silver birch."

Harry opened his mouth and gasped a bit as he exhaled. That's when he tasted something salty and realized he had something hot running down his face.

He touched his cheek and stared at the tear on his finger.

Dumbledore just squeezed his shoulder and pulled him a little closer.

Harry would never admit it out loud, but he was glad Dumbledore had followed him.

* * *

**Thanks for reading : )**


	8. A New Day

**A New Day**

**A New Deal**

**6 January 1992**

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he entered the Great Hall. While he wasn't surprised to see that Snape wasn't there, he was surprised to find the seat occupied. A rather large man with a bald head that shined under the sunlight sat in the seat.

This must be Horace Slughorn. Harry hoped this man was kinder. He wasn't up for starting another fight. Someone else would have to do it.

Though the hall was mostly empty, a group had gathered at the Gryffindor table. Cormac beckoned him over.

Harry looked at him over his glasses then continued over to the Slytherin table where he began fixing his plate. He munched on bacon as Cormac crooked his finger then jabbed it downward as if to say 'Here! Now!'

He was, once again, ignored.

More students straggled in. All of them looked at, who Harry assumed was, Slughorn, then at him, then at each other. Harry for his part ignored them, but rolled his eyes at the new man causing him to chuckle. He then leaned over to have a conversation with Flitwick. His eyes remained on Harry, though, who felt he was the topic of their conversation.

Terence walked in and almost ran over to him.

"Rumor has it you put Snape in the Hospital Wing," Terence said. "How d'you do that?"

"Never underestimate your opponent, especially not one who spent six years surrounded by aurors, who gave him books full of nothing but defensive and offensive magic."

Harry often thought back to Snape's surprised face when he'd conjured the shield.

Idiot.

"So he's gone?"

"Absolutely."

Terence reached over to give him a hug and place his cheek atop Harry's head. "You are a special boy. I can enjoy my last two years here. Thank you, Harry. Thank you."

"I am trying to eat."

Terence shoved him. "Little shit."

"One day I'll be big shit."

"You smell like it."

Harry shook his head. "Flint just entered."

Flint and Montague and Avery and Malfoy and Bletchley entered.

They sneered and scowled at Harry, but the green-eyed boy didn't think they had too much bite behind them. Snape was gone and Dumbledore had allowed Harry to do as he pleased. So long as Harry didn't leap over a line again, he'd be able to use that to his advantage.

Theodore and Daphne entered behind them. They looked at Slughorn then at each other before walking over.

"Snape attacked you?" Theodore said. "Daphne heard it from Longbottom who heard it from the Weasleys."

"Good morning, Theodore. Daph-ne."

The two just continued to look at him expectantly, so Harry just continued to eat his breakfast.

At last, when the hall was full, Dumbledore stood. "Good morning, children, and welcome back."

"Good morning, Headmaster," most of the hall said in unison.

Harry snorted. " _God_."

"I would also like to welcome Professor Slughorn," Dumbledore said. "He will be replacing Professor Snape – "

Almost every student in the Great Hall stood with a cry. Harry didn't stand, though, and neither did a good portion of Slytherin, but most of the House did and so did everyone of every other house.

Unlike other seated members of his house, Harry Potter could be found with a grin on lips.

Someone, Penelope Clearwater he realized, wrapped her arms around him. He felt tears. "I don't have to stress over getting an outstanding on my OWL. I can get an exceeds expectations. I can do that."

Gemma ruffled his hair and Cassius Warrington said, "I might get the prefects badge next year. Well done, Potter."

Adrian Pucey held out his hand and Harry shook it. "Thank you. Flint probably won't be captain next year."

It took minutes for the hall to calm down. People were crying. Slytherins were shaking hands with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were hugging Hufflepuffs. The Gryffindor table, started by the Weasley twins, broke out into song, singing the Hogwarts School song. The rest of the houses followed. There was even a chant of 'Potter.'

Harry looked at Dumbledore, who was half amused and half saddened. In he end, he raised his wand and aired out a few bangs. Eventually everyone sat down, though they weren't all at their house table. Terry was next to Theodore and Cormac was holding Harry.

"I am so happy you are pleased," Dumbledore said when the hall quieted. "Now, I must re-establish rules. You will go to each and every class on your schedules. You will attend each and every detention issued to you. Or you will face anything from suspension to expulsion."

Most of the students looked at Harry, who rolled his eyes.

"Are we in agreement?" Harry found Dumbledore's eyes on him as he asked.

"Yes, Headmaster," most of the hall answered.

Harry Potter did not answer.

**xXx**

**New Ideas and New Flames**

**10 January 1992**

As luck would have it, term started on a Monday. As such, Harry had to wait all week for Potions. However, everyone told him of it. They spoke of a calm, relaxed, overall enjoyable environment.

Harry couldn't wait.

For the first time all year he was excited for potions class.

In the meantime, he'd attended two Quidditch practices: Monday and Wednesday evening. The third would be Friday evening. It was unlikely he'd see an Under Seventeen or Under Fourteen game before August and even then he'd have to win a spot. Still, adding three practices to his schedule took some getting use to.

What little schoolwork he received was now done they day he received it and he took to flying everyday. He would practice maneuvers and had even roped Fred and George into helping him out.

Slughorn started by taking attendance. The further he got down the list the more bewildered he grew. "This is the Slytherin/Gryffindor class?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said.

Harry looked around, despite the display in the Great Hall, his confusion was warranted. Upper year Slytherins and Gryffindors were still antagonistic towards each other. But in here Daphne was seated between Neville and Lavender. Harry was situated between Theodore and Ron. Tracey was next to Dean and Parvati was next to Lilith, who was next to Fay, who sat beside Blaise.

Slughorn eventually just shook his head. "Very well," he said. "I have gone over Severus' notes. It seems most of you have missed half the lessons."

Daphne waved her hand. "We brewed most of them, though, and went over the ingredients. We did well, I think."

Professor Slughorn looked amused. "Did you? How do you know you did well?"

"Most of our potions looked like Harry's," was the answer.

Slughorn looked at Harry. "All of you brewed potions without supervision?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "It was fine. Everyone was calm and did alright. Some potions were a bit murky or lacked sparkle, but that's a cutting issue, which takes some practice."

"Oho!" Slughorn said with a laugh. "Did you not teach them how to cut?"

Harry nodded. "Of course."

Slughorn chuckled. "Did any of you keep the potions you brewed?"

"Yes, sir," they said.

"Very well," Slughorn said. "Label them and give them to me by next Friday."

They nodded. Slughorn still went over the potions, though. He seemed pleased that they weren't behind on understanding various ingredients. "Professor Snape went over this?" he asked as he looked at the notes in Harry's book.

"No, I just take notes myself."

"He also taught us about some," Ron said. "And how to identify a type of potion based on the ingredients."

Slughorn looked at Harry. "Do you intend to be my successor?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Of course not. I don't have the patience for cheeky brats with no respect for rules or authority."

"Are you describing yourself?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

Slughorn laughed as he walked away.

They didn't brew anything as Slughorn spent the entire class on note-taking. "We will begin brewing next week. I wanted to ensure that you understood the material," he said before a bell rang. "Off with you and don't forget to bring me your potions. Uhh, Harry. A word."

"Some things never change," Harry said.

However, Slughorn waited for the classroom to empty. "Next week Wednesday," he began, "I am hosting a dinner in my office. I wish to get to know a few of my students and I was hoping you would attend."

Harry had been warned by Dumbledore himself of this. 'He likes to collect students…you would be the jewel of his collection.'

Slughorn couldn't do much for Harry because Harry was the Minister's boy. Or he had been. He hadn't spoken to Bartemius since he told him he hated him. Regardless, he was well acquainted with high-ranking ministry personnel.

However, maybe Slughorn could get Harry near Damocles Belby. He wouldn't have the time now, but later.

He hoped. He hoped there would a later.

"I can make it."

"Excellent."

**xXx**

"This is a new day," Fred Weasley said as he stood a platform speaking to the masses.

They were all gathered in the Room of Requirement. Currently, they stood or sat around the room with their eyes on Fred.

"We have fought and suffered and cried for years. For someone, anyone to hear our voices; our cries of anguish." He pretended to wipe his eyes. "That's when a scrawny hero stepped out from the shadows…"

"A scrawny, specky git!" Cormac yelled.

Fred's lips twitched as Harry kicked Cormac. "A beacon of hope. _Our_ champion called to us and we rallied around him." He raised his bottle of butterbeer which was, no doubt, spiked with something. "To Harry James Potter. Thank you for all that you have done. We are forever indebted."

"To Harry Potter," the room at large said.

Harry buried his face in his hands.

"Aww," many of the girls cooed.

"Now let's celebrate." Fred clapped his hands and music started playing.

"I can't believe you're shy," Cormac said.

"Leave him alone, McLaggen," Cho said. "He's adorable."

Harry placed his face in his knees. He'd hopefully overheat and die soon.

"Chang thinks you're cute," Cormac said. "Now kiss – ouch."

Harry looked up. "Thank you, Cho."

She smiled at him and Harry felt his stomach flip flop. "Are you thanking me for calling you cute or punching McLaggen?"

Harry blinked. Twice. "Huh?"

She giggled and so did her friends. Cormac and Eddie howled beside him.

"I hate all of you."

Eventually, Eddie calmed down to say, "So I was thinking – "

"Oh, Merlin," Marietta Edgecombe said. She was a strawberry blonde with brown eyes and freckles on her cheeks. Currently, she was sitting on a Ravenclaw bean bag with a butterbeer in her hand.

Eddie glared at her then said, "Our Snape problem has been fixed, so I had a thought that we should tackle another one – "

"I'm not leading a resistance against another professor," Harry said. "Find someone else."

"Will. You. Lot. Shut. _Up_?!"

Harry looked at him. "No need to be rude."

"Awful," Marietta said. "No idea how to be courteous."

Eddie scoffed. "Stop interrupting me. Now…I was thinking on maybe Wednesdays, Sundays, Saturdays or whenever, we could all gather here and practice defense."

"Like a defense club?" Cho said.

"Yes," Eddie said.

Harry nodded. "Sounds like an idea."

"A good one," Marietta said.

Harry tilted his head towards the podium. "Go tell 'em."

"Huh?" Eddie said.

Harry snorted. In the end, _he_ ended up telling the room. "Oi," he started with in an amplified voice. He scrunched up his face. "Ew is my voice really this high?"

"Ya balls haven't dropped yet," Terence announced much to the amusement of the room.

Harry gave him the finger then turned back around. "Edward here had the bright idea that we should come here on Wednesday evening to practice defense. Like a defense club, but unsupervised."

"Not a bad idea," Melissa said, "but we're all pretty bad at defense."

"Overwhelmingly," Ophelia said.

Harry frowned. "I'm not."

The girls rolled their eyes.

"Think fast," Terence said. "Stupefy."

"Protego."

Terence, surprised, ducked. The spell hit the wall and disappeared.

Harry, pleased to emphasize a point and happy to put on a show, slashed his wand, "Petrificus Totalus."

Terence's limbs locked and he fell to the ground, stiff as cardboard.

Harry laughed then turned back around. "Anyway," he said, ignoring the stunned room. "I think the upper years and/or the best in every year – the ones here at least– can come up with something."

"What about the creatures?" Terry said.

"You mean learning about them or practicing the spells that…subdue them?"

He shrugged. "Both."

"The latter is a given," Cedric answered. "I think we can come up with a list to go over the former, though."

Penelope waved a hand. "Some of us are reviewing OWLs," she said. "We can lead the lower years on the former."

"And NEWT years can sit around with the sixth years," Hestia Jones replied.

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said. He'd get in touch with Erato, too, for some pointers. "Oi!" he yelled when someone – Terence he realized – tackled him to the floor. "Get. Off. Me."

**xXx**

**A New Friend**

**26 June 1992**

January became February and soon enough the winter snow melted and turned to spring rain. Life at Hogwarts had settled down and Harry found the peace he'd been searching for.

He hated it.

Peace was boring.

It was nice for a while. Going to class, visiting the Room of Requirement, going to dinner parties in Slughorn's office, and going to Quidditch practice. Bartemius had not said a word to him and Harry refused to acknowledge any sort of bereft feeling over that. And while he often found Dumbledore eying him, neither had spoken since Godric's Hollow, which he was super okay with. Harry was just fine with never speaking to Albus Dumbledore again.

However, that was not meant to be.

By June, Harry had made peace with his perpetual boredom by flying for every bored minute until he was exhausted, but Dumbledore took it upon himself to add a tad bit of spice to his life.

One afternoon, Harry found himself sitting in a seat across from the Headmaster in the latter's office.

"Afternoon, Harry."

"Headmaster."

Dumbledore exhaled. "You are already aware of all that I was keeping from you and six months ago I would have kept this from you, too, but I am not so old that I cannot learn from my mistakes."

Harry just raised his eyebrows.

"Do you recall me telling the school to stay away from a third floor corridor at the Start of Term Feast?"

Harry nodded.

"Behind a certain door was a cerberus," Dumbledore announced. "It stood above a trap door that led beneath the school. The cerberus was one of many obstacles that stood between the school and the Philosopher's Stone."

Harry tilted his head. "Philosopher's Stone?"

"It is an object created for, in part, immortality so long as the possessor drinks – "

"The Elixir of Life!" Harry sat up. "Why did you have that here?"

Albus sighed. "Because you were coming to Hogwarts."

"I don't understand."

"Voldemort does not want you to become a seasoned wizard as Bartemius calls it," was the answer. "You would be a better threat then as opposed to now when you are just a talented, little boy. He was going to come for you some way, some how, but not until he had a body and not until I was sufficiently away from you." He cleared his throat. "There was a break-in at Gringotts this summer…"

Harry nodded. He'd heard, but… "Voldemort tried to break in because the stone was in Gringotts."

"Correct. Hagrid retrieved it hours before," Dumbledore said. "Had he not, I would've been here in Scotland and you would've been wandering back and forth between Malfoy Manor and Grimmauld Place, a home Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black would have had access to."

Harry met that intense gaze without fear, though his heart rate had increased a little.

"While I did not know you were going to either home," he said, "I should have explained the severity of things back in eighty five." Dumbledore sighed. "I do not regret placing you with Vernon and Petunia and no matter how much you pout and glare I will never be so. The regret lies solely in that I did not ensure you were being well cared for."

Harry, not wanting to give Dumbledore satisfaction, settled on rolling his eyes.

"It is the safest place for you as it keeps Voldemort at bay," Dumbledore said. It sounded almost like a plea. "And you will return there for the first two weeks of your holiday."

"What will happen if I don't?" Harry asked curiously. He'd always wondered what the protection did besides force him to live in hell.

Dumbledore seemed to misunderstand as he said, "I will have Bartemius shut off the illegal Floo connection and I will remove the vanishing cabinet from your bedroom. I would rather you not be a Wasp anyway."

Harry blinked. "I wasn't – how do you know about the vanishing cabinet? Ugh, I need to find someway to keep _you_ at bay." He huffed. "What I was asking is what happens to the protection? And what does it _do_?"

"Forgive me. I hear the curiosity now," Dumbledore said, "I'm just so used to you being combative – "

"Justifiably," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore ignored the comment. "The protection ceases to exist. Currently, it keeps him from touching you in any manner."

"Only him?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes, but _I_ have also placed a number of spells around your home. They will keep him and any Death Eater at bay. So long as you return each summer for at least two weeks your protections will last until you are magically a man."

There was a knock at the and Harry made to stand, but Dumbledore said, "Sit." Raising his voice, he said, "Enter."

A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair entered the room. When he neared Harry figured he was in his fifties with the few deep lines on his forehead and around his eyes, which were amber-colored. He also had a beard with a lot of white hairs in it and a gold chain with a triangle charm hung from his neck.

"Albus," the man said. He had a French accent, but not exactly. It was as if that was his original one, but it had somehow become corrupted.

Dumbledore stood up and the two hugged. "Nicolas, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Nicolas Flamel, an old friend and the mentor of my twenties."

"Good afternoon, sir." He looked at Dumbledore. "You mean you were his mentor…right?"

"Afternoon, Mr. Potter." To Dumbledore, he spoke in French. "The boy does not know who I am?"

Harry nodded and replied in the same. "No, I've heard your name before, but I thought you were just some long dead wizard who did something notable once…sorry. What did you do?"

Dumbledore laughed softly. "I am amazed a child interested in transfiguration and potions hasn't yet connected the two."

Mr. Flamel sat in the chair opposite Harry. "I created the Philosopher's Stone."

"Oh," Harry said. " _Oh_." He shook his head and, before he could stop himself, he said, "Merlin, you must be hundreds of years old."

"Six hundred three," Dumbledore interjected.

Mr. Flamel sighed. "Thank you, Albus."

"My pleasure."

Mr. Flamel eyed Harry. "Your Headmaster hopes I will teach you a few things during my extended stay in England. Convince me."

Harry shook his head. He was uninterested in that. "What have you been doing for six hundred years?" he asked. "And _why_ would you want to be here for six hundred years? I've been bored for about six months. I can't imagine six hundred years of that."

Mr. Flamel looked at Dumbledore then back at Harry. "I've been traveling and learning."

"Sorry, but I don't think there's that much earth."

Dumbledore coughed and Mr. Flamel looked at him. "Do you intend to giggle for an hour or two?"

Dumbledore stood up. "Forgive me," he said as he, clearly, attempted to stamp down a laugh. "I will return…some time later." He then swept from the room, laughing to himself.

Mr. Flamel sighed. When the door closed he said, "I have stayed in every country for at least a three decades, learning from the relics of the past; people who are, or _were_ , still alive in a world wholly different from the one they'd been born into. I have seen ruins become new cities and cities become ruins and I have learned from the witches and wizards who remained through it all. So there is, indeed, that much earth."

Harry nodded, but had a frown on his lips. "Have you had fun?"

Mr. Flamel tilted his head slightly. "Yes."

"Do you miss all your friends and family who've died?"

Mr. Flame's face softened by a fraction. "My son," he said, "I have descendants, so to speak, somewhere in the world. Blaise is the surname, I believe. I have not and will not look for them."

Harry tilted his head upwards. "He did not want the potion?"

"The Elixir of Life only prevents diseases and further aging. You can still die of any curse if a cure isn't given in time." He sighed. "Sebastien wished to join his wife, who had died an untimely death."

Harry brought his knees to his chest. "What's he want you to teach me?"

"What would you like for me to teach you?"

"I assume you're good at potions. So that."

Mr. Flamel shook his head. "I've been told you have progressed to the point where you are examining the individual ingredients, therefore I cannot help you with potions until you figure out what it is you wish to do with them. Unless you wish for me to give you copies of rare books."

"Depends on the language," Harry said. "I only know French, German, Latin, and Greek, modern and medieval."

"Not ancient?" When he shook his head, Mr. Flamel said, "Very well, we will start there." He placed the tip against Harry's lips. Harry felt a familiar warmth that stretched to his voice box and his brain.

With that, Mr. Flamel stood and removed a bottle of wine and some glass goblets from a cabinet that Harry had never seen. He then called a house elf to bring them some snacks. Over fondue then white chocolate soufflés with raspberry sauce, the two drank while Harry listened to Nicolas – as he'd asked to be called – tell stories of the wizards of Ancient Greece in the very language they spoke.

**xXx**

Hours or days later, Harry rose from a very soft bed with soft, lavender bedding. It was a four poster bed with a dark wood frame that matched the floor and cream walls that held a poster and family portrait.

He shoved his glasses on. The poster was of Puddlemere and the portrait was of a family of five: a tall, blonde man, two, tall auburn-haired boys, a black-haired woman sitting in a chair while a little, blonde girl giggled in her lap.

Clutching his head, Harry got off the bed to get a better look. It was of Dumbledore and his family. Harry would be able to identify those eyes anywhere.

He looked around then stretched. It was nighttime and the clock on the wall told him the End of Term Feast would begin soon.

He shoved on his boots then, still clutching his head, gingerly made his way from the room.

He turned to find himself stepping out from behind a bookshelf. "Oh, this is brilliant," he said. "What an excellent idea. I've always wondered – "

"Potter, why are coming from the Headmaster's chambers?"

Harry scrunched up his face. "If I may request that you not yell at this current time it would be greatly appreciated."

"Potter, have you been drinking?!" She sounded almost breathless and far too bloody loud.

Harry entered the room fully to sit in one of the chairs by a table and covered his eyes with his hand. The Heads of Houses appeared to have gathered in the Headmaster's Office for some reason or other. He scrunched up his face some more then snuffed all but two of the candles. "Yes, Professor, I have," he said. "And I swear I'll never do it again."

"You will," Slughorn drawled. "You enjoyed this port, Harry?"

"He was not drinking in the Headmaster's office, Horace. Mr. Potter, you have been allowed to do as you please, but this is beyond the pale."

Harry snorted. "I worked tirelessly to get one of your colleagues fired and baited him into attacking me," he said. "This is hardly the worst I've done." He looked at Slughorn. "Is that what that's called? I have that at home. I'll put it on ice…"

"I thought you just swore off the practice."

"Changed my mind."

The door opened and closed.

"Why is it so dark in here?"

McGonagall, once again, refused to use her inside voice. "Albus, I hope, at long last, you intend to do _something_ about Potter."

"What has Harry done now?"

Harry looked at Dumbledore and regretted it instantly. Dumbledore's robes were scarlet and the light made it worse. "Good god, why are you wearing _that_ color?"

"What is wrong with scarlet. I find it delightful and festive."

"It is _obnoxious_ , Godric."

Dumbledore frowned. "Slytherin was said to be a dour sort. Tradition continues amongst his students it seems."

"That time he had the right of it," Harry retorted. "The dark greens and black of Slytherin are welcoming and wonderful and not so hideously _loud_."

"Have you considered that you only find it loud because you decided to drink my Port?" Dumbledore shoved a vial into his hand. "I think you will enjoy that."

With his eyes closed, Harry uncorked the vial and drank it. "Disgusting."

"You are welcome."

"To your port? Why thank you, sir. I found it delightful and festive."

Slughorn laughed.

Dumbledore sighed then summoned a bag. "He told me to tell you to enjoy. Now...go to your room."

"Have a good evening, Heads, Masters, and Mistresses."

Less than ten minutes later, Harry threw himself onto his bed to look over the books. There were three and they were all in Latin. It would keep him busy while he was stuck at Privet Drive with only Quidditch practice for relief.

After a few minutes of resting, he placed the books in his bag then threw on his school robes and donned his hat.

It was time to feast.

**xXx**

"Good evening, children," Dumbledore said as he stood before. "Another year gone by," he said. "One more… _interesting_ than most. I am pleased that all of you held up your end of the deal."

Harry didn't bother looking up. He wanted to go to bed.

"Before we feast, I would like to make an announcement." He looked around. "This coming semester will see the addition of two more courses to the curriculum."

Harry looked pub then.

"Third year will see the addition of an Ancient Studies course and, as I have been told of most of this schools practicing of combat magic in your hideaway, we will bring back the Dueling Club."

"How the _hell_ did he learn about that?" Harry asked more to himself than anyone else.

His voice carried a little, though, and Dumbledore looked at him and winked.

Harry curled his lip. This was ridiculous. There was no reason one man should know every blasted thing there was to know.

"The second course will be Magical Theory. An in-depth study of theoretical magic."

Harry raised his hand. "Sonorous," he whispered at his neck.

"Mr. Potter?"

"What is the difference between Ancient Runes and Ancient Studies besides the obvious all inclusion?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Ancient Studies will not only focus on teaching a language or alphabet, but also its history. You will discuss everything from the magic of the time to the language they spoke."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. Quietus."

He had an idea as to who would be teaching those classes and why they were staying. He knew it wasn't just for his benefit.

Nicolas and his wife weren't yet ready to die and no one wanted to be murdered.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
